


and he feels like home

by cecilia095



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Feels, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, One Shot Collection, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Workplace Relationship, i love these domestic idiots so much, just a mix of everything really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29143665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilia095/pseuds/cecilia095
Summary: a collection of drabbles + ficlets featuring Carisi/Rollins' relationship.
Relationships: Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr./Amanda Rollins
Comments: 175
Kudos: 192





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends! I'm back, but this time with a collection of Rollisi prompt fics, because I'm really bad at coming up with story titles and I also don't mind all of my work being in one convenient little place. Most of these prompts will be completely random, unrelated, some un-canon, etc., but I'm super pumped to have a place to put my weird little ideas whenever I get 'em. These two have been on my mind _a lot_ lately, and I'm having so much fun writing them. :')
> 
> I'm not sure how many ficlets will be featured here, or how often I'll update, but if you ever have any prompt requests or something you'd like to see from me, please share in the comments! I'd love to hear what y'all think; your comments mean the world!
> 
> Title comes from (shocking) 'long story short' by Taylor Swift.
> 
> ─────────
> 
> This first one is canon- _ish_ , takes place in January 2021, and features Sergeant Khaldun, who I kind of liked but also selfishly hope gets written out and completely forgotten about. :)

[ **“we’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”** ](https://pxroxide-prinxcesss.tumblr.com/post/617930764698435584/prompt-list)

─────────

It'd been... _a nigh_ _t_ , to say the least. After a Friday night sex crime on the subway, Liv insisted they call in reinforcements for this case, to avoid growing their seemingly never-ending pile of open cases. January'd been a tougher one than usual; for the city, for the unit, for Rollins and everyone else she knew and gave half of a shit about.

The "reinforcements" came in the form of Khaldun — Sergeant Hasim Khaldun of NYPD's Transit Bureau — because the guy always _delivered_ and effective results were what they needed on a Friday night at eleven o'clock after a fourteen-year-old girl on the way home from her fast food job got assaulted in an emptier-than-usual subway car.

Just as everyone is about to call it a night — if, you know, two-thirty in the morning could even mean 'calling it a night' — Khaldun approaches her from behind as she's slipping on her coat, and she doesn't mean to, but she jumps.

"Sorry," she hastily apologizes. "Guess that fourth round of caffeine wore off a little quicker than I thought, huh?"

She doesn't know why she suddenly feels nervous around him. They've spent time together before, alone, outside of the squad room. Maybe it's because that was pre-pandemic; a time when she was less overwhelmed by everything around her. Maybe it's because he texted her a couple of times since March to 'just check in' and she's answered what... _twice_? Maybe it's another reason; it's the thoughts she can't seem to ever linger on too long in her head because it scares her that she can even... feel this way about someone. 

"Yeah, guess so," he says, his nose scrunched, playing with the rim of the styrofoam coffee cup in his hands. "Hey, you okay?"

"Fine," she confirms, "just — just ready to get home to my girls."

"I can imagine. Hey, so, uh —" He stalls, almost like he's looking for the right thing to say without screwing it up. For some reason, in the past and right now in this very moment, he seems to show an interest toward her, although she can't figure out why. He knows enough about her from their few conversations to have a very valid excuse to run.

Rollins almost wants to intervene and tell him to stop wasting his time, but then she'd have to tell him _why_ , and she's not sure she's ready for that conversation. 

"I texted you a few times to see... to see if we could ever pick up where we left off," he blurts out. 

"You texted me to... what was it... ' _check in_ ', but good to know," she teases, looking more so down at his hands than at him. It's easier than making eye contact with someone you're about to blatantly reject.

"Yeah, but I figured you knew what I meant by that." He rubs his lips together, keeping the space between them. 

She's a lot of things, but she's not a liar. "Yeah, I did. H-Hasim, look. I'm sorry, but I just — I'm trying to keep two little girls alive, fed, _entertained_... all while still doin' my job. It's been a rough year. Dating's not exactly on my mind."

"And I'm not pushing it, I just thought... I thought we could take it slow," he tells her, taking his leather jacket that's draped over one of the desks and slipping it on. "Can I walk you out?"

"Sure, but um, I've gotta — I've gotta be honest with you," she starts, and she surprises herself that she's even about to explain this. "Dating's not on my mind because I, I'm kinda with — or, I don't know, _sort of_ with — someone else. That's why I haven't really been answerin' your messages."

He looks at her for a second as he bites the inside of his cheek, and then raises a hand in defeat. "Hey, it's okay, say no more. You might wanna button up that coat all the way, it's in the teens out there. C'mon."

─────────

She walks — no, _tiptoes_ — into the apartment at 3:02, taking note of how spotless the counter is when she tosses her keys and her wallet down onto it. You'd never even know it was a spaghetti night. She'll thank him for tidying up the kitchen tomorrow morning. 

As she slips off her coat and shoes, she takes note that Carisi's on the couch despite her endless reassurance that he's allowed to crash in her bed when he's over watching the girls. When she squints, she notices he's not alone, either.

She makes her way to the living room and sits down on the arm of the couch, letting a hand run softly through her baby girl's blonde locks, pushing some hair off of her forehead. Jesse either feels super warm, or Amanda's hands are still freezing from the walk up to the apartment.

Carisi's eyes are on her, and she wonders if he ever really went to sleep. She knows herself that anytime one of the girls are sick, she never gets more than an hour or two of rest. Despite not being a parent himself, he's more like one than actual parents she knows. "Hey, you're back," he whispers. "Jess had a little fever. Made me crash out here with her."

Rollins raises an eyebrow at him. "' _Made you_ ', huh?"

"Uh-huh, made me." He'd do anything for the both of her kids, at this point. He smooths a hand down Jesse's back, making sure to stay as still as possible, because the five-year-old is out cold in her Uncle Sonny's lap and if she's as heavy of a sleeper as her momma was at five, she's not moving until morning. "How'd it go? You find the son-of-a-bitch?"

She nods softly in confirmation. She gave him brief updates via text before the arrest was made, but then it got busy at the precinct and she figured he and the girls were asleep by the time they actually caught the guy. "Yeah, well, Khaldun's the one who made finding him possible."

Carisi doesn't say anything, but she can see the words he _wants_ to say get caught in his throat.

"Liv brought him and some of his guys in because we were swamped. Y-You remember him, right?"

"I dunno, I might."

" _Dominick_."

"Nothin' about him makes him stand out to me, but yeah, I think I remember him. Who could forget your fake husband?"

She rolls her eyes and leans in, palming his shoulder and giving it a squeeze, careful not to wake Jesse from his arms.

"He asked me out again," she whispers.

"Great. You got anyone else to share this groundbreakin' news with? Liv might still be up, how about Kat?"

"Hey, c'mon Carisi, don't be like that." Without another word, she leans over him and grabs her sleeping daughter up into her arms with a huff, but not before he can ask her why. "Because you're sleeping tonight, _in a bed_ , and so is she. Look, she doesn't even flinch. I'll be right back."

He takes the stack of blankets off of his lap while she puts Jesse down, toeing out of the shoes she didn't even realize he still had on. His hair is still semi-gelled back, his jeans still on. For someone who is so comfortable crashing in her apartment with her girls, he's still not confident enough to bring an overnight bag, and part (most of) that is her fault.

Wordlessly, she sits down on the couch next to him and wraps her delicate fingers around his wrist, grabbing it and placing it into her own lap.

"Can I finish my story now?" she asks, her voice low. They haven't been this close to one another since nine o'clock on New Year's Eve; since she fell asleep snuggled into his side and they never brought it up again.

"Yeah, yeah, Khaldun asked 'ya out because he's ready for his promotion from fake husband 'ta _real_ husband? Lemme grab the leftover confetti from New Year's and we can celebrate."

"Jesse used it all last week during playtime, but that's — I'm tryin' to tell you why I said ' _no_ ', Dominick."

Suddenly, he perks up — Amanda rejecting Khaldun'll do that to a man — and lets his fingers curl around her thigh. The territory is unclear sometimes, and the last thing he wants to do is overstep, but this feels okay.

"You know..." she swallows thickly and watches him wait for her mind to catch up with her tongue. She's a careful talker, unlike Carisi, who spits his thoughts out at a mile a minute. "Comin' home to you and Jesse like that, I — her real father hasn't called her since _Christmas_."

"I'm sorry, 'Manda."

"And Al, he takes Billie less and less on weekends and just blames it on the pandemic, but we all know it's just an easy out for him."

"Screw Doctor Al. Not — not literally. Please don't ever do that again."

She laughs, until she doesn't. " _Dominick_."

"Sorry, sorry."

"Seein' you with my girls, the way you drop everything for 'em when I need you to be there, the way you drop everything for _me_ ," she continues, her hand nervously shaking in his, "it's one of the many reasons I told Khaldun I was sort of seeing someone else."

"You _what_?"

She's a little taken aback by his reaction, but she can't be mad at the guy. One minute it looks like something between them, and the next she's having Doctor Al's kid. She doesn't blame him for being weary with his heart.

"I don't know, aren't we — Sonny," she sighs. "I don't fall asleep on couches on New Year's Eve with my _friends_ like that, do you?"

"You're tellin' me if Fin came over you wouldn't pass out on him like that?" he jokes.

"You know what I mean," she nudges him in the side. "Look, this doesn't need a label, you know I'm fine with that, but we're _not_ just friends and you fuckin' know it."

He smiles timidly and then takes a hand and palms it on her forehead and laughs when she stares at him and asks him what he's doing that for. "Just checkin' you're not the source of Jesse's fever. You just told me you had feelings for me."


	2. two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This little fic is based sometime in 2021 _ish_ , based off of the prompt ' **once we start, I might not be able to stop** , and is also the reason that I had to change the rating of this series to 'M'. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect my next update to be this sudden, but I got this idea in my head and couldn't stop writing it. I'm a smut fan, but not exactly an experienced smut _writer_ , so be kind. Like... I'm cringing heavily at my "attempt".
> 
> In other words, I'm so humbled by all of your kind comments on the first installment in this series! I am so glad you all enjoyed it, and I'm definitely having a good time writing it. I'd love to hear from you as these stories continue, and don't forget: If you have a prompt you'd like to see, share it! 
> 
> Also, Sonny calling Amanda 'honey' is canon, bye.

[ **“are you sure? once we start, I might not be able to stop.”** ](https://pxroxide-prinxcesss.tumblr.com/post/617930764698435584/prompt-list)

─────────

With a hand through his gelled-back hair and a long huff of frustration, he swiftly drops the case files onto Fin's desk without a word and makes his way toward the Captain's office.

"What, no cannolis today Counsellor?" Fin waves a hand in the air, and then he looks at Rollins when he asks, "What the hell is _his_ deal?"

Rollins reluctantly peeks up at the scene over her laptop screen, over the work she's been too distracted to fully dive into because Carisi hasn't replied to a single one of her texts all afternoon or evening and it's throwing her off of her game; not having him to bullshit with in between all of the chaos. "Huh? Why — why would I know?"

At that, Fin and Kat throw each other a knowing glance, but both of them stay silent, shrugging and getting back to their own work.

Rollins works — _if you can call it that_ — absentmindedly on her laptop for a few more minutes, compiling all of her research on their perp's history into a document and then slams her laptop shut, standing up out of her chair and stretching, her shoulders cracking. It's just one of many indications that the squad's been at this case for _way_ longer than they — or 1PP — would like. It's nearing ten o'clock now, and that eight A.M. call about some sicko running a daycare for essential, working parents potentially molesting their children feels like it should've been handled way quicker than it has been. It's a tough one, and one look around the room tells Rollins what kind of toll a case like this is taking on everyone.

She tells Fin and Kat she'll be right back, not even fully confident that they heard her. They're a little more zoned-in than she is, right now. She knocks twice before entering Liv's office, watching as her Captain waves her in, causing Carisi to turn around and look at her for what feels like the first time all day. She tries to keep her glance over to him completely neutral.

"Amanda, hey," he greets, almost a little too happily for a Counsellor who's got a desk full of prosecution paperwork to be completed by the morning plus this shit-show of a case piled on top of it. "Um. W-What's goin' — 'Ya got anything, Rollins?" he queries, a little more professionally-toned this time.

"Hardly. This guy's not as dumb as he looks."

"Has he lawyered up yet?" Liv's referring to the potential sicko sitting in interrogation. 

"Not yet, but he's not givin' me or Kat much," Rollins confirms, sliding both hands into the pockets of her jeans and letting her body exhale, feeling the sheer of exhaustion of the day weighing her down. "He _d_ _id_ offer Billie and Jesse a discount at his daycare, though. Since I'm... _essential_ , and all."

Liv's used to idiots like this, with their bargaining and their sick, twisted charm, so her furrowed brows say what she doesn't, but just the mention of Billie and Jesse causes Carisi to promptly overreact. Both women watch the already-prominent lines in his forehead grow deeper, his eyes scrunch at the knowledge that this criminal knows even an ounce of information about Amanda or the girls. For a second, he's not a lawyer nor a cop; just a man in protective mode over the three most important things in his life.

"I'll go in there right now, Captain!" he shouts. "He doesn't want to deal with a lawyer? Great! I've got other things on my resume, y'know!"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there Counsellor," Liv warns. "No one's trading in our nannies for his services."

Rollins isn't sure her way of calming Carisi down is something she'd want to try in front of her boss, so she just softly suggests a walk; a five-minute break so everyone can shake off the heaviness of this day for a little while.

For once, her Captain is in full agreement with her, shooing both the Counsellor and her detective out of her office. "Go. Make it a fifteen, or a _twenty_ if you grab me a cup of coffee on your way back."

─────────

"You know guys like these, they're scum," Rollins starts, averting Fin and Kat's eyes on her and Carisi as they make their way through the squad room so that Amanda can grab her coat and purse from her desk. "I had to make a connection to him to get him talkin'."

"Yeah, well if offerin' the girls a freakin' scholarship at his disgustin' excuse for a daycare is talkin' —"

"Dominick," she says lowly, reaching a hand out and grabbing onto his arm, "I was just doin' my job."

"Well I'm about to lose mine for goin' in there and beatin' him senseless."

"C'mon, let's go get that coffee. Maybe just juice for you. You're a little too fired-up."

They're quiet until they get to the parking lot and over to his car, and he clicks the keys twice and then opens the passenger side door for her. All these years of working together, and she's never watched him open his own car door first.

"We could've walked for the coffee," she tells him, stepping into the car and sitting down anyway. Carisi joins her, sliding into the driver's seat and adjusting the chair so that he's got more leg room up front, leaning back into the headrest and closing his eyes. "Ooooorrr... we can just sit here in your dark car. Without heat. In silence. That's fine, too."

He huffs, turning to look at her, but not lifting his head up from the comfort of the seat. "I'm — I'm sorry, honey."

She leans a little to her left to give his thigh a squeeze, finding more comfort here in Carisi's dark, cold car in the middle of the precinct parking lot than she's felt all day, since the phone call. " _I'm_ not mad you overreacted about the girls, but I'm sure Liv'll have somethin' to say about it later."

"I'm a passionate Godfather, what can I say?" he jokes, knowing full well Billie's been calling him 'dada' since she learned how to talk. "I just don't like knowin' some piece of shit is out there doin' this to harmless kids. To kids like... like ours, y'know?"

"Oh, I _know_ , it's kind of the entire point of my _job_ , Dominick. To hate that pieces of garbage like this are out there, to — to catch 'em and lock 'em up so they can't hurt anybody else." When he just nods in response, she adds, "I only mentioned the kids as a way to get him to say somethin', but obviously that didn't work."

He nods in understanding, extending his arm out to her lap and grabbing one of her hands in his. He runs his thumb over her knuckles in silence, until he pulls away to check his watch. "When did Liv want us back?"

"Half-past never-o'clock?" she laughs, shaking her head. "I don't know. She's so spent she won't even realize we're gone. Why, you tryin' to kick me out of your car?"

He bites the inside of his cheek and looks down at his own lap. "Never, I just — we've got a sitter on the clock and one of us should try and do our job faster to go home and relieve her."

"Hey!" She whacks him in the elbow. "I'll happily go back in there and clock out, leave the rest of my research to eager little Kat and not come back until next week. But _first_..."

He watches in silence — and awe, always in awe — as Amanda unbuttons first her peacoat, and then takes the hem of her off-white sweater and begins to lift it up over her head.

"Whoa, whoa, what are you doin' to me?" he probes. "I wanna see you in _that_ ," he pauses, nodding with his eyes to the navy laced bra she's got on underneath, "more than anythin', but it would mean a lot more in our bed than in my dark car, don'tcha think?"

"C'mon Counsellor, loosen up," she jokes, tugging down the straps of her bra teasingly. "You know, I really hate it when you ignore me, Dominick," she states, pouting at him.

He holds up a finger in defense — always ready to make his case, that one. "Not ignorin' you 'Manda, just busy. I got all of your texts and I replied in my head, I did, but I was just gonna reply to you in person, at home."

"Well, I can't wait until we're _at home_ for this, so c'mon," she pleas, shooting him a deep glance. All of the stress of the day, this twisted case, goes away when they realize they've got each other like this.

"Rollins, Liv said twenty, and a _coffee_ , and honestly? Once we start, I might not be able to stop."

She's got her tongue between her teeth and two hands hovering above his belt buckle, beginning to undo it with steady hands. 

"You've had a hard day, Carisi. Lemme at least _try_ to make it better, okay? Now stop talkin'."

He raises his eyebrows in astonishment, mostly at the woman in front of him, but also at the fact that this is happening right in the parking lot of his former precinct with his former partner-turned-lover.

She makes her way into the driver's seat, sitting herself as comfortably as she possibly can, half of her body in his lap and half dangling onto the floor mat, without making it completely obvious to any outsiders that there's an almost-topless woman in the front seat of this car, and then she presses her body into his. He feels satisfyingly warm underneath her.

Raking one hand down his chest, she uses the other to help shrug him out of his suit pants and then out of his briefs, holding his erection steady in her hand until she slowly makes her way down to its level.

"Amanda," he groans under his staggered breath, "I — I don't deserve you."

"Shh."

"I'm serious, honey, I just — today's been the worst — _oh_."

"I told you to 'shh'," she threatens, lifting her head up from his lap, only to bring it back down again a second later.

With a little more haste than usual, she twists her wrists around his cock, stopping to take the time to slide her tongue up and down before taking the tip in between her lips, feverishly tasting him. She realizes she's been dying to do this all day. She groans at the feeling of him being pleasured, silently thanking herself for requesting this little break.

 _Little break_ , meaning she's got two more minutes to satisfy her man, tie her hair up in the hair tie she hopes is still on her wrist, and race to the deli to buy those coffees for her boss.

When she finishes she takes a protracted breath, slides her hands up his hips, and offers to help him with his belt buckle. He sheepishly tells her she's still got... _evidence_ of him on her face, and she smacks him on the thigh for the damn cop reference.

─────────

They pick up five coffees, one for each miserable, overtired detective (plus a counsellor) still on this case.

Amanda uses what little energy she has left to re-tie up her hair, smooth out her sweater, and walk a calculated seven steps behind Carisi into Liv's office.

As they both enter, Liv is setting down the phone, smacking her lips together as she makes eye contact with them.

"B-Break in the case, Cap'n?" Carisi questions nervously, and Rollins knows by the panic in his face he's calculating exactly how long their little car adventure took. She can pinpoint the exact moment he realizes they might've been gone a little over twenty minutes.

"Actually, no. That was your sitter, Sienna."

Both Carisi and Rollins' faces fall at the mention, and Liv interrupts any freakout that is about to ensue.

"She called because the kids were asking for Mom and Dad. I know who 'Mom' is, but I-I assume I'm looking at 'Dad' too, right?"


	3. three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was inspired by all of the damn (unwanted) snow we got in New York today, the fact that I've really been itching to write an 'I love you' fic, and the very sad fact that we still have 11 days to go until a new episode. This one is just fluff, fluff, fluff, because we all need that sometimes. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and for all of your sweet comments!

**first 'I love you'**

─────────

It was a stupid fight. Silly, even, she thinks when she sits down on the couch by herself and generously pours herself a glass from the only bottle of red she finds in her apartment.

After a huff of frustration and a long sip of wine, she grabs the remote and turns on the news. ' _Feels like six degrees out there, and the snowfall isn't stopping any time soon, so bundle up and get comfy, New York City..._ '

She thinks about what he's doing right now, and laughs bitterly to herself when she realizes he's probably on _his_ couch doing the same exact thing she is — sans the wine; he's a beer guy. He's probably replaying the fight in his head like she is, thinking about how they could've left together instead of arguing over this case in his office for an hour, about how they're both too stubborn to budge and text the other first to apologize.

The clock says nine-thirty-four. Normally with him in the apartment, she'd be asleep with ease, either plopped up against him on the couch after a bad reality TV marathon or getting into bed. It took them awhile to establish what exactly they were, which boundaries they were now allowed to break. Sleeping in her bed — _their bed_ , really — together was the most recent one.

She changes the channel because _Sex and the City_ reruns are on and there's nothing else to do. A few minutes into it, she hears the girls' room door creak open and sits herself up to greet the tiny footsteps that approach her, lowering the volume on the TV because the last thing her kids need to hear is Samantha Jones' sexscapades. 

"Momma..." Jesse says lowly, sleepily rubbing her eyes. She's got Billie's baby blanket dangling from her little hand. "I can't sleep."

"Why? What's the matter, baby?" Amanda asks with concern, leaning forward to set her wine glass down on the coffee table and gesturing for her baby girl to join her on the couch. 

"Uncle Sonny didn't read me _Eloise_ tonight," Jesse admits sadly, climbing into Amanda's lap. It's the new thing: He bought her all the books for Christmas, and in the last week alone he's read her to sleep with _Eloise in Paris_ five nights in a row, and she loves every minute of it. He does a voice and everything. Not having him around tonight hasn't just affected Amanda, she's noticing.

She strokes Jesse's hair and presses a kiss to the top of her head, saying nothing at first. "U-Uncle Sonny had to work late," she lies after a minute. She hates that; lying to her babies. It's what her mom did to she and Kim growing up, because it was easier than admitting her own fuckups and truths. "He'll be back soon, okay?"

"After the snow, right? Is that why he's at his _own_ house?" Jesse questions. She may be only five, but she's got her momma's detective skills and natural curiosity. 

"T-That's right," Amanda confirms, without much confidence, giving her daughter one last kiss goodnight and patting her butt as she climbs down from her lap. "Go back to bed, okay?"

"Momma?"

"Yeah, baby."

"I love you."

She's doing something right, but not entirely on her own. Her girls have a lot more examples of love than she and Kim ever had. Before she can respond and offer to tuck Jesse back into her bed, there's a knock at the door that makes her jump.

"Who the he—"

She peeks through the peephole and sighs, running a hand through her hair before taking her other shaky hand up to the lock and pulling the door open for him.

"UNCLE SONNY!", the little voice behind her chimes all-too-excitedly, racing into his arms and catching him off guard. Amanda's no mindreader, but she's pretty sure he didn't come all the way to her apartment in a blizzard at ten o'clock at night to read _Eloise in Paris_ to her five-year-old.

After a few minutes of greeting Jesse and offering to tuck her into bed — "Eloise tomorrow, okay?", he promises — he gently closes the door to the girls' bedroom after tiptoeing out and makes his way over to the couch, but doesn't sit down.

"She's already asleep," he lets her know, and she silently thinks about what a professional he is at parenting both of her children, but she's not feeling generous enough to compliment him on that right now; not after the fight.

Amanda takes another sip of her wine before setting it down onto the coffee table, offering him the little bit she has left with a shaky breath.

"I'm good," he says, waving a hand. "Can — Can I sit?"

"I'm still mad at you," she tells him, patting the couch cushion next to hers', "but yeah, c'mere."

"I'm still mad at you too, y'know," he says with a smirk, joining her on the couch. All his wet clothes are off and hanging up by the doorway, so he's just in a sweatshirt and jeans and semi-damp socks. His hair still has snow in it, and if she weren't so pissed off about today, she'd find the sight a little more endearing.

Without saying much, she raises the volume on the TV for background noise, _Sex and the City_ still on. She's barely paying attention anymore, leaning her head into the back of the couch with a sigh. She feels his hand find her thigh, giving it a squeeze in the silence. The gesture is comforting, despite them still being mad at one another. His hands always feel like home on her body, as stupid as it sounds in her head.

"Why did you come here in a blizzard, Dominick?" she questions, and she can't help but palm her hand over his. He's still freezing. "Fine, I know why you came here, but you could've just texted."

"No I couldn't've, and 'ya know that," he tells her pointedly. "It's fine, I have a truck," he adds, ignoring her eye roll at that.

"There's fourteen inches of snow outside."

"This was more important 'ta me," he replies. "Look, I'm sorry I challenged 'ya, okay?"

"But you still did it."

"'Cause I had no choice, Amanda! I'm in a completely different position now; I've gotta look at every case from all sides, not just the victims'!" 

She's visibly frustrated at the way his voice raises. She knows he's mostly just passionate about his job, what he's been expected to do, but it still bothers her that it always turns into a debate. "You're doin' it again," she points out. 

"I'm sorry," he quickly apologizes, lowering his voice and puffing his cheeks out, his head shaking. "Look, even when I'm not on your side, I'm on your side."

"Yeah, _that_ makes sense," she retorts sarcastically. 

"You know what I mean..." he says in frustration, his head in his hands.

"Do I, though?" she teases, sifting a hand through her hair.

"Yeah. I can't promise that we won't disagree on cases from time to time, but you're always gonna mean more 'ta me than any of 'em. I can promise _that_ , and that's why — that's why I came here in six-degree weather to tell 'ya."

"So you _are_ annoyed you had to come here in a blizzard!" she calls him out, pointing a finger at him accusingly.

"Not annoyed, 'Manda, just cold. And wet. Do I have another pair of socks in the drawer somewhere?"

"Probably." His stuff has slowly (and neatly — he's the tidiest man she's ever known) made its' way into every crevice of the apartment. 

She reaches over to the arm of the couch to grab the remote, completely muting Carrie's antics on the TV and then shifting her body so she's got both legs folded, turning to face him. She props her chin up under her hand, rubbing her lips together. He's got a strand of wet, snowy hair plastered onto his forehead, and she can't help but scrunch her nose at it.

"Hey, Jesse kind of lost it tonight without you here, y'know," she admits, and he leans his body into hers, raising his brows in curiosity, waiting for her to elaborate. "Dominick, you have the girl obsessed with those bedtimes stories. And you. She — she doesn't sleep good when you don't stay over. Neither does Billie, to be honest. They're both kind of off without you around."

"And _you_...?"

She laughs bitterly and stretches an arm out to reach for the discarded wine glass on the coffee table, holding it up to him with a tilt. "Hmm, what do you think?"

Without saying anything else, he veers into her and presses a smooch to her forehead, letting his lips linger for a second before pulling away.

"I hate fightin' with you," she admits, bringing a hand up to the side of his face. "Jesse apparently hates it too."

"She knows about today?" he questions in surprise, and Amanda shakes her head swiftly, telling him she'd never involve Jesse in any of their disagreements. 

"You've um — You've become such a huge part of my life, of the girls' lives, and I — I don't think we know how to function around here without you."

"You don't have 'ta," he assures her. "Hey, I'm gonna go grab a beer from the fridge. Refill for you?" he nods to her almost-empty wine glass.

She bites the inside of her cheek and laughs when she tells him she polished off the last of the wine. A New York City snowstorm'll do that to you.

"Dom — Dominick, wait."

"So yeah? A beer?" he asks, scooting off of the couch.

"No, I just..." she pauses to chew on her bottom lip, nervously cracking her knuckles as she looks up at him. "I — I love you, okay?"

Amanda legitimately can't remember the last time she's said 'I love you' to someone other than Billie and Jesse, and Sonny's brows are elevated in shock. He's said it once, earlier this year, on the couch after a night of wine and board games and a Bravo marathon, and he told her he'd never pressure her to say it back; that it wouldn't change the fact he feels that way.

"Okay," he replies nonchalantly. 

"Hey!" She hops off of the couch and lunges forward toward him, snaking both arms around his waist, her head now tucked into his still-damp sweatshirt. "When someone tells you 'I love you', they _miiight_ wanna hear it back, you pain in the ass."

"Oh, you don't wanna have that argument with me, Rollins," he snickers, the two of them remembering that time a few weeks ago he said it to her expecting nothing back.

"I love you," she says again, this time less shakily, standing up on her toes to smooch his jawline a few times, then taking her lips up to his in a deeper kiss. When they pull apart, she takes a second to snap back to reality. "And I'm sorry. For today. But you're the one who came here in a blizzard, so now you're stuck."

"I'm fine with that, even if it locks me in 'ta reading Eloise ten times tomorrow," he says, tapping the top of her nose. "I love you."


	4. four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little drabble I couldn't get out of my head. I hope to make the next one lengthier, but here we are! If you're out there reading/enjoying this, I'd love to hear from you! Your sweet comments mean so much to me and make me look forward to writing this so much more. :')

[ **Is that man bothering you?** ](https://incorrectrollisi.tumblr.com/post/639444636920954880/bartender-is-that-man-bothering-you-rollins)

**─────────**

It doesn't take detective work for Amanda to notice that Sonny's on beer number six, and she pats him on the back, lets him know he doesn't have to try and keep up with Rafael.

"He has a lot more experience than you," she notes teasingly, but he just reaches across the booth to cheers to a round seven with Rafael, and she rolls her eyes at the same time as her captain does. 

"Listen, we're gonna get goin'," Fin says, standing up with Phoebe's hand in his, using his other hand to fish his wallet out from his back pocket and throw down a few bills to cover their part of the tab. They're... lighter drinkers than the rest of the group, Amanda notes. "Happy birthday again, Liv."

Olivia salutes her sergeant and his wife goodnight, and then turns to whisper in Rafael's ear, probably ready to call it a night herself. Rafael just holds up a finger to her, ignoring the way her arm is looped through his, her head sleepily leaning further and further into his body. "I can't leave in the middle of a debate with Carisi."

"Then _I_ ," Amanda chimes in, lifting her empty glass into view, "am gonna need another three of these. Anyone else? Liv?”

“Might as well,” Olivia says with a sigh, looking next to her at Rafael who looks three hours away from being ready to leave. Nights out have been few and far between for a busier-than-ever Rafael Barba lately.

“I’ll go with ‘ya,” Sonny volunteers before Olivia can get up from her seat, standing up from his place in the booth with both hands in the pockets of his jeans, not without a wobble. 

As they scoot past a few late-night bar patrons tipsily dancing a few booths down from theirs, Sonny’s hand finds her wrist and he grips onto her — mostly to steady himself after those beers, she thinks.

“Two gin and tonics, please,” Amanda requests from the first bartender to approach her. "And maybe a water... for this one," she adds, pointing at Sonny who's still got a hold on her. His body feels looser than his normal upright, tight, put-together stature.

"Hey," he breathes, his voice low. He leans into her, his grip on her wrist tightening. "You're the only person who can look — who can look this," he stutters over his words, and Amanda can tell by the look in his eyes that he's finally coming to terms with how intoxicated he actually is. " _Beautiful_ , in shitty lighting," he finishes with a snicker.

She swallows and looks back over at him, nodding at his words. All these years, and she still finds it hard to take a compliment. 

"I'm serious. When I get you home, I'm just — I'm gonna —" he trails off, and Amanda rolls her eyes, tapping her fingertips on the wooden bar top as she impatiently waits on those drinks.

"Ma'am, is he bothering you?"

"W-What?" she stutters, caught off guard by the bartender leaning over the bar in her direction, looking concerned.

The bartender, a lanky kid no older than early-twenties, probably, shoots her a nervous, tight-lipped smile and nods over to Sonny, who's too far gone to notice any of this interaction. "That man, is he giving you a prob—"

Amanda's laugh interrupts his next word, and she shakes her head. "Yes, but only because he drank too damn much and we have two kids to take to school in the morning."

He's wide-eyed, holding a hand up in surrender and apologizing.

"He's my husband, I voluntarily signed up for this," she jokes, pointing her thumb in the direction of Sonny who's just absentmindedly fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve. She grabs the drinks, but not without throwing down a few singles for the kid. "G'night."

"What was that about?" 

"Nothin', c'mon," Amanda nods, making sure he's still trailing behind her when she sets the drinks down on the table. As they make their way back, she notices Olivia slipping into the coat that Rafael is holding open for her. She clearly won whatever argument about leaving the bar that happened when Amanda and Sonny walked away.

"Rain check on that gin and tonic, Rollins," Olivia promises, and Rafael shoots an apologetic look in Sonny's direction, telling him he'll shoot him a text to finish their conversation sometime during the week. "Goodnight, you two. Text when you get home safe, Amanda?"

Amanda nods and slides back into the booth, Sonny sliding in next to her this time rather than across from her. He bids Liv and Rafael goodnight, and then leans back into the velvet-cushioned headrest with a sigh, taking his fingers up to his temples and rubbing them.

"I think I drank too much," he admits defeatedly after a second. "Phew. Like, ' _seein' small black dots every time I close my eyes_ ', drank too much, 'Manda."

She fiddles with the rim of her still-full glass and then places a hand over his, gently rubbing her index finger over his wedding ring. 

"You know, the bartender, he — he thought you were hittin' on me," she admits.

"I _was_ hittin' on 'ya, Rollins," he quips.

"I hate that you call me 'Rollins' when you're drunk. That's not even my last name anymore." 

Sonny leans into her, leaving a beer-breathed kiss on the side of her head. "You ready 'ta go?"

"In a second. I'm just — I'm just thinkin'," she says, slipping a hand under her chin and furrowing her brows. He asks her if the bartender said something else to piss her off. "No, no, I'm just thinkin' about the fact that he thought we were two strangers in a bar."

"Well... we _are_ two strangers in a bar, 'ta him," he replies pointedly. 

"Don't go all lawyer on me right now, Dominick," she threatens. Her thoughts get interrupted by the flash of his phone screen; the picture displayed every time a text or a call comes through. It's Sonny and the girls this past Christmas, Billie in his lap and Jesse with both arms around his neck from behind, at his childhood home in Staten Island. It's his favorite picture — kind of a sappy, full-circle moment, just him and his girls, photographed by his wife, in the house he grew up in. She can think of at least a dozen family pictures that are better, even professionally-posed, but this one is his favorite for some reason.

"Do you ever regret it?" she asks thickly, playing with her own wedding ring as she does. A wedding ring. She never pictured herself wearing one before him, and now she barely takes it off.

He doesn't know what she means, so she elaborates. "Like, you have me, and the girls, but we're — you're not gonna get to do this on your own terms; they'll never _really_ be yours."

He laughs dryly at that. "Thanks for the reminder."

"You wanted kids, _biological_ kids, and you can deny it all you want but you're not exactly a Manhattan apartment kind of guy. That's why your mom keeps askin' when we're gonna start looking at Staten Island real estate every time she calls me. I'm not stupid."

It's not exactly where or when she pictured having this conversation, and if she's _really_ being honest, she never really pictured having this conversation at all. It's all been swept over the rug the last two years since they've been married — Billie's been calling him 'daddy' since she learned to talk, Jesse's been his right-hand since she was a few weeks old, his _whole world_ is Amanda and the girls, and he's never actively expressed wanting more. 

"Yeah, well, clearly it doesn't bother me as much as it bothers you, honey."

"But does it? Like, at all?" she presses, her chest visibly shaking at the thought. Two, three more drinks in, and she'd be giddy, drunk Amanda, tipsily ordering an Uber from his phone and itching to get a slice of greasy pizza on their way home. The thought of him settling on the life he might've wanted, for _her_ , for the girls that may be his to both of them, but never _really_ his... "The bartender thought you were an attractive, single guy tryin' to pick me up, and that's not unrealistic. Look at you, Dominick! Sometimes, I look at you and I wonder what the hell you're doin' with me when you could have so much more."

He puffs out his cheeks to run a hand through his hair, the gel from this morning now loosened, a few strands stuck onto his forehead. "I just look _shot_ ," he tells her. "C'mon, you ready for bed?"

"Dominick..."

He turns his body as comfortably as he can in this tiny bar booth, grabbing her hand in both of his, and even in his drunkest state, he's still capable of taking care of her with just one touch. It's stupid, how much better at comforting her he is. " _I_ made the first move," he says with a chuckle.

"You didn't. _I_ came and asked you to lunch, remember?"

"Before that. I made moves... one through ten." He presses his lips to the back of her hand. "'Manda, you're all I want. I would've never — I would've never went for it if I couldn't handle it, if I wasn't okay with it."

"Oh, so you have to ' _handle_ ' us, Carisi?" she teases, pressing her pointer finger into his chest.

"I live with three girls, two of them with their mom's... tenacious personality. You tell me."

She rolls her eyes, wiggling her hand out of his so she can hold onto the tabletop, standing up and grabbing her jacket out from underneath her.

"We're lucky to have you," she tells him, "and I just wanna make sure you feel the same way."

He reaches out a hand, despite being a lot drunker than she is, and steadies her by the shoulders, helping her slip into her jacket.

He kisses the back of her neck before he pulls away. "Tomorrow's Valentine's Day and I'm dressin' up as _Cupid_ for Billie's preschool class. Hungover. You tell me if I feel the same way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was inspired by [incorrectrollisi](https://incorrectrollisi.tumblr.com/post/639444636920954880/bartender-is-that-man-bothering-you-rollins) on Tumblr. It was too good of a prompt to ignore. This one's kind of AU-ish (or me, having high hopes for future Rollisi, lol).
> 
> Also side note, this timeline lined up with V-Day and Olivia's birthday on 2/7, and I didn't do that intentionally! Just worked out that way. :)
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day _and_ SVU week! Thanks for reading!


	5. five.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written solely for the reason that I'm a huge sucker for step-dad!Sonny, that's it. More pointless fluff, honestly.

**happy birthday, momma**

─────────

"Nooo, you do the cheese like _this_ , Billie!" Jesse lectures her little sister, grabbing a fistful of shredded mozzarella off of the cutting board and carefully sprinkling it onto the messy, sauce-smeared dough — Billie's creation, with Uncle Sonny guiding the spoon. She demands Billie watch _her way_ , pulling her hand back with a smirk on her face when she's satisfied with the amount of cheese she just drenched their homemade pizzas in.

"C'mon, Jess, let her help," Sonny says, setting down the ricotta filling he's got half-done. Cooking an entire meal with a six-year-old and a three-year-old takes three times as long, he rapidly comes to learn. It's the first time Billie's _really_ been included in the cooking, because Momma's birthday is a special occasion and he's going to need all little hands on deck.

"I _am_ ," Jesse whines, "but she's not puttin' the cheese on right!"

Sonny then joins the girls at the table, taking a handful of cheese off of the board himself and leaning over Billie as she looks back at him to copy his movements. "See, sweetie, like this. Attagirl."

"We didn't make cannoli with Momma for _your_ birthday," Jesse points out, her head nodding in the direction of the dozen cannoli shells waiting to be stuffed. 

"That's 'cause I make 'em ten times better than Momma does," he jokes, and the girls giggle in agreement. "And hey, your Momma married me a week before my birthday last year, that was my present."

That statement makes him take a look around at the life he now has — the life they share together. Stick figure doodles of their family (even Frannie) drawn by the girls all over the fridge. A framed family portrait in the living room from their wedding day. A "#1 DAD" mug the girls got him last Father's Day sitting under the Keurig. His suit jacket messily draped over the arm of the couch, because cooking with the girls after work was more important than hanging it neatly in its place in the closet.

For awhile, he wasn't sure how well he'd blend into the life Amanda already had; the comfortable little family she'd learned to become, just her and the girls. It turns out, he'd been a pretty big part of that equation since the day Jesse was born, even if it took them both awhile to realize it.

Once they did, things happened pretty quickly. Nights over turned into weeks, she got to sleep in while he took Jesse to school or bathed and fed Billie, little pieces of him started to fill every room in the apartment. 

Today's her birthday, and if her sporadic text message updates to him about her day over at the precinct mean anything, she should be home within the hour, _maybe_ two at most, and the cannolis aren't even close to being done. He can't even remember where he put the candied orange peel.

"Okay, I'm finished." Jesse sets down the pizza spoon, sauce splattering onto the tabletop, pushes the empty cutting board out of the way, and wiggles out of her seat. "Can I hang the banner for Momma now?"

Sonny then remembers the rainbow 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY' banner the girls picked out at the party store yesterday, grabbing it off of the countertop and then lifting Jesse up onto the counter with his free hand, setting her down and pre-cutting the tape, showing her exactly where to hang it up on the cabinets. "Careful kiddo."

"I got it!" The 'Y' in birthday is a little twisted, but he doesn't have time to fidget with it now, and Jesse's too proud of her decorating job for him to fix anything in front of her, anyway.

"Okay, now c'mon," he rubs her shoulder once she's satisfied with her banner placement and helps her down from the counter. "Go get cleaned up and ready, Momma's gonna be home soon."

"Was that really _your_ birthday present, Daddy?" Jesse queries. With every passing day, she gets more and more curious, _especially_ about how her Uncle Sonny quickly became the only father-figure she and her little sister would really ever have, and then, officially, their step-dad. Some days, he's still 'Uncle Sonny' to her, some days it's 'Daddy', and he's fine with either — her little six-year-old brain has had to navigate quite a few changes over the years, and really, he's just happy to be a part of her life. 

"Yeah, it really was," he nods, knowing she means the wedding like he'd mentioned before. "All I've ever wanted is for your Mom — and you girls — 'ta be happy, you know that?" He bends down to her level and boops her nose, getting a giggle out of her. 

"I know that," she nods confidently, scrunching her nose. "I'm gonna go get in my dress now, 'kay?"

"Alright, hon. Billie and I are gonna finish the can— _Billie_!"

The three-year-old's got a smug look on her face, and a fist full of cannoli cream in her hands (and on her mouth, and on the shirt he _just_ changed her into before). 

"Sowwy, Dada," she exclaims, the apology meaning nothing as she sticks her right hand in her mouth and licks some more cream. 

"No you're not," he laughs, the toddler a spitting image of a small Sonny Carisi on an Italian Christmas Eve sneaking the desserts. He grabs a stack of napkins from the center of the table and swipes her mouth, steadying her with his free hand. Sometimes, it trips him out that she's not his biological kid. As close as he and Jesse have been her whole life, as much as she's meant to him since the day of her birth, he and Amanda agree Billie's personality is an exact replica of his; especially the older she gets. "C'mon, we've gotta finish these. Momma's comin' home any second now."

─────────

By some miracle, Billie's re-dressed in her second-best outfit with some coaxing from Sonny, Jesse's stationed in her spot at the table impatiently waiting to sing 'Happy Birthday', the cannolis are finished, the pizzas are all set and ready (Amanda's with a blue and white striped candle stuck in it), all before she walks in the door.

"So now do we just... sit here?" Jesse asks, a fork in her hand ready to dig into her pizza. She's already picked off most of the pepperoni. "Maybe we can start without Momma."

"Uh-uh, don't think about it," Sonny warns, wagging a finger at her. Billie's squirming in his lap, just about as ready (and hungry) as her sister. After a few quiet seconds, which to the girls feels like _forever_ , the door swings open.

"MOMMA! We made cannoli!" Jesse yells like she's been waiting to shout that statement her entire little life. She catches Sonny's eyes widening at her, and then adds, "Oh! Happy birthday!"

Amanda's floored by the banner, at her girls all dressed-up, at the fact that there are four _almost_ -perfectly-shaped homemade heart-shaped pizzas on their kitchen table. She looks at her husband who, of course, will just shrug off the credit and hand it all over to the girls. "You did all this?" she asks dramatically toward her daughters, her jaw dropping.

Jesse proudly slides out of her chair and races toward Amanda's leg, clinging onto it. It's been an even-longer-than-usual work day, and she's been eager to see her Momma since the birthday dinner prep started. "Mhm! The pizza was all my idea!"

Sonny laughs from his place at the table, Billie wiggling in excitement in his lap, impatiently waiting her turn to attack her mother's leg. "Cannolis were mine," he confirms.

"'Ya don't say," Amanda says, Jesse still wrapped around her as she finds her way to Sonny and her youngest. She leans over to smooch the side of his head, letting out a sigh.

"Long day, huh?"

"Even longer because Fin and Kat decided to surprise me with cupcakes before we clocked out."

"That was sweet of 'em."

She shrugs, leaning over Sonny to give Billie's arm a squeeze. "Yeah, but I just wanted to see my girls. And you."

"Well, you're here now — right, Jess? C'mon, sit, you need 'ta eat," he tells his wife, waiting for her to take a seat before lighting up the sole candle in the middle of her pizza.

Jesse asks if she can lead the vocals on 'Happy Birthday' because she's _really_ shining in the first grade choir, and then Amanda blows out the candle. Ever since Sonny's been in her life, she's had a candle to blow out on her birthday, every single year. He watches the corner of her mouth curl into a smile at that thought, and then tells everyone to eat up so they can get to the cannolis.

─────────

"Hey."

She ties her robe tighter and lets out a shiver, which prompts him to ask him if he should turn up the heat, and then he tells her she should've let him put the girls to bed. "It's your birthday," is his argument, and she laughs, because he's got this thing about _birthdays_. They've always just been another day to her, until him.

"You do too much for me, Dominick."

His gaze follows her as she sits down next to him on the couch, the velvet of her robe brushing up against the leg of his pajama pants. "How so? It's your birth—"

"Yeah, yeah, it's my birthday, not the day of my coronation," she teases, plopping down onto the couch and throwing an arm into his lap. "Billie was _so_ excited about the cannolis. She wouldn't stop talking about them during her bath."

"Are we _sure_ she's Al's and not mine?" he jokes, and Amanda rolls her eyes, saying she's actually not so sure anymore. Sometimes, the littlest Rollins resembles Sonny more than Amanda, which family members and friends all-too-eagerly point out. "We'd do that for you any day. Well, maybe not _any_ day, 'cause I've got a pile of paperwork waitin' for me in the bedroom that Hadid wants by tomorrow afternoon, but..."

His words drift off, and Amanda slides both of her hands up his cheeks, taking his face in them. "I like the banner. We should keep it up."

He wrinkles his nose, her hands warm on his cheeks. "It _really_ doesn't go with our kitchen decor, but if you really wanna... I know a six-year-old who wouldn't oppose."

"I love you. So much. Maybe even more than the cannolis, which I had like... three of," she laughs guiltily, taking her hands off of his face and leaning her body into him with a yawn.

"Love you," he responds quietly, brushing a hand over the top of her hair with one hand, using his other hand to lower the volume on the TV. They'll probably fall asleep just like this, tangled up on the couch together with the news playing faintly in the background. "Hey, Jesse called me 'Daddy' today again."

Amanda raises a brow and turns her head to look at him, nodding. "Yeah, that's because you _are_ , Dominick. That's gonna keep happening because, I mean, look at you. Look at everything you do."

He brushes it off like it's nothing. "It's no big deal. It's what — it's what husbands and dads are supposed 'ta do."

"Maybe, but we got the best one."


	6. six.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The death of one father/daughter relationship, and the blossoming of another._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note:** This chapter does contain the death of a minor-ish character and a brief mention of drug use. This one is kind of heavy, because all I've been writing lately is fluff and I'm trying to switch it up.
> 
> If you're out there reading this, I'd love to hear from you! I want to make sure this story is actually... enjoyable, ya know? I love writing it so much, but sometimes writers doubt their own abilities/work/plot/characterization/etc., so I'd love to hear from you/what you think! Thank you to everyone who's taken time out of their day to read this so far. I have quite a handful of ideas for this collection in the works. :)

**a cemetery in Georgia**

_─────────_

**_James "Jim" Rollins: A beloved husband, father and grandfather._ **

_Ironic_ , she thinks with a bitter laugh. He was exactly zero of three of those things listed on his gravestone, and yet here they were expected to cry tears for him at his burial site — because that's just what you do when someone dies. 

Even if that someone is your deadbeat father, the grandfather your girls never really knew, and the husband you watched day-by-day growing up who wasn't very much of a _husband_ to your Momma at all — the one who threw a vase at his helpless wife in anger and didn't even stay around to help her pick the glass out of her hair.

She drops the small bouquet of flowers Sonny purchased for her to bring this morning on the wet ground, the dirt still freshly torn apart from the burial a few days back. " _The right thing 'ta do_ ," he said at the time he picked up the flowers, and she just shrugged and argued about how Jim rarely ever did the right thing when he was alive.

She swallows thickly, ignoring how heavy her eyes feel as she looks down to the ground when he asks if she's okay.

"I'm glad — I'm glad I didn't come when everyone else did," she admits, not knowing how she'd handle mourning her father with an audience. It's just her, and Sonny, a cheap bouquet of flowers, and an overcast cemetery in Georgia. He'd never expressed where he'd like to be buried, because he'd been somehow invincible all of these years — constant drug and alcohol use, beating the living daylights out of the women who were naive enough to give him a chance, and yet he was never afraid of looking death in the eye.

She feels his arm wrap around her shoulder, pulling her in as she shivers from the rain that's starting. _Of course it's raining today_ , she thinks, and she's ready to get back to New York and never have to come back here again.

"It's terrible, but I hate him even more knowing how he died. Alone in a motel room, a — a needle still in his arm. Doesn't it just feel like, I don't know, a _waste_?"

After a staggered breath and a few seconds, Sonny just says, "He was sick, 'Manda."

"He was given so many chances, and he just — he fucked 'em all up," she retorts, rage painting her tone. "If he were so ' _beloved_ '," she continues, nodding at the etching in the gravestone, "then why do I hate him so much?"

"You don't have 'ta love your family," he tells her, his fingers giving her shoulder a squeeze. "And you don't have to forgive 'em either."

"Just like my girls will never have to love or forgive _their_ deadbeat fathers for not being there, right?" she laughs, almost bitterly, and she can tell he doesn't know how to react to that statement. "S-Sorry. It just makes me so mad. Repeatin' Momma's mistakes."

The rain is coming down a little heavier now, the sky above darkening despite it barely being noon. They've got a long drive to New York ahead, and she's hoping he offers to drive the first half, too exhausted with emotions to even picture herself behind the wheel of their truck.

"You're not your mother," he promises after another few seconds of silence, slipping his arm off of her shoulder and grabbing her hand into his instead. He links their fingers together, the cold band of his wedding ring brushing up against her palm. He lifts their joint hands up to his lips, pressing a smooch to the back of her hand. "And you can't go back and change who you made the girls with, you just — _we just_ — have 'ta be grateful they're here, and they're ours."

Amanda's chest tightens at that statement. Over two years of marriage and seven years of Sonny changing her girls' diapers and rocking them to sleep and being 'Dada' even if the girls knew he wasn't _really_ Dada, it still doesn't change the fact that they're not his. It doesn't change the fact that Carisi DNA is nowhere in either of her girls despite wishing it were, or that having any more children is so far off the table for her it's in the _floorboard_ , or that he's the best, best stepdad in the entire world to two little girls who he had absolutely no part in making.

He lets her sit in her thoughts for a minute, her hands fidgeting with the buttons on her cardigan as she looks silently at the spot in the ground where Jim Rollins will lay for eternity. She's not sorry that she's rarely communicated with the son-of-a-bitch over the last few years; he didn't deserve the time of the day, and her girls didn't deserve a half-in, half-out grandfather. She doesn't regret avoiding that revolving door in the lives of her precious daughters.

In that moment, Sonny's phone rings and he smiles, holding it up to her. "It's Jesse callin' from Liv's phone," he tells her, and she nods sadly. "I-I'll get it."

"Jess!" he exclaims, the seven-year-old excitedly smiling on the other end of the video call, Amanda's captain's voice in the background telling her to hold it up higher so Sonny can see her better. Both of the girls have been staying with Liv and Noah for a few days. "Hey, kiddo. You bein' good for Olivia?"

"'Course," she promises. "Me and Billie miss you and Momma! Where _is_ Momma? I don't see her!"

Sonny glances over his shoulder at his wife, who's still lost in her thoughts in this rainy cemetery. Her heart breaks at the sound of her little girls' voice, but she doesn't have the strength to hold a conversation with her right now.

He contemplates handing the phone to Amanda, but he decides it's better if he doesn't. "Momma's restin'," he lies. "We'll be home tomorrow, hon."

"'Kay," Jesse smiles, smacking her lips together. She's holding the phone all lopsided, and Sonny laughs. "I love you!"

"I love you, kiddo," he says with ease, and then Liv helps her hang up the phone as she waves goodbye.

_─────────_

It's about a thirteen-hour drive. Most days, she'd get a coffee, extra shot of espresso, put on her favorite music or an audiobook, and coast effortlessly back to the city.

Today, she sinks her head into the headrest of the cushioned passenger seat, lets out a sigh, and closes her eyes tightly as he starts to drive.

"I'm surprised you handed over the keys so easily," he teases, poking her in the thigh. He's a city boy through and through, and she's the driver in this relationship. It goes back to even when they were just partners; it's a deal they've always had.

His words cause her to stir in her spot, lifting her head slightly off of the back of the seat, squinting her left eye open at him. "Give me like, six hours..." she groans.

"We did the right thing by goin', 'Manda," he assures her, his right hand resting on the top of her leg. 

"Yeah? What _is_ the 'right thing', Dominick? Was me shutting him out of the girls' lives the _right thing_? How about me no-showing to his stupid third wedding? Was that the right thing?"

He shakes his head, unable to give her an answer. _His_ parents are good people, good grandparents to Billie and Jesse despite longingly awaiting for Sonny to announce he's having his own biological child. They love the girls just the same as they do their biological grandchildren, and they have no problem showing it.

"There's no 'right thing' when you're dealin' with shitty people," she continues.

"I — I dunno," he responds curtly. He wouldn't know. No one in his immediate life has ever been a shitty person, which explains why he's so easily the wonderful person he is. 

"Exactly," she says with a little bit of bitterness after a minute, and then she shuts her eyes and pretends to sleep until the next rest stop.

_─────────_

Liv brings the girls back home instead of making them come to her apartment to pick them up, because they just drove thirteen hours and she doesn't mind.

They drop their bags, two little blonde heads zooming through the living room to the couch, and they jump right into Sonny's lap. Liv quickly says her goodbyes, says the girls were angels, and that she'll see them for dinner at Fin and Phoebe's on Sunday night.

"Hey!" he exclaims, enveloping both of the Rollins girls into tight hugs. Four days away, and he's missed them like _crazy_. He knows Amanda has too; she's thought about them every minute they were gone.

Billie leaves a wet smooch on his cheek, and Jesse's got her head on his shoulder. "So you two were good girls for Liv, huh?"

"Uh-huh!" Jesse claims, and Billie echos her big sister's sentiment.

"Well," he says, poking both of them in their sides, "I say that calls for Sonny's famous pancakes then, what do you say?"

Billie claps her hands together at the mention. "Yeah!" she shouts. "Pancakes!"

"Is Momma eatin'?" Jesse asks with concern, looking around to notice her Momma is nowhere in sight. For years, she's watched Sonny making sure Amanda was fed, was eating enough, had more in the fridge than baby formula and TV dinners. Thanks to him, she always did.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm — I'm gonna go get 'er," he promises, patting both of the girls on the backs for them to climb out of his lap, standing up from the couch. "You two go wash up and put your backpacks in your rooms, okay? And hang your coats up; I don't wanna see 'em on the floor again!"

Jesse grabs Billie's hand, eager to follow the rules because the quicker they get settled in and cleaned up, the quicker they get their pancakes. Sometimes, he even sneaks them rainbow sprinkles to top them with, despite Amanda's protest that there's already enough sugar in the damn syrup. 

He follows the girls down the hall to his own bedroom. He knocks twice, the door cracked open slightly. He can see her at the edge of the bed, looking down at something in her lap. He doesn't like to assume, but he thinks it's Jim Rollins' funeral card. Her mom left out a stack of them at the house when they visited her for dinner the night before the cemetery, and Sonny snuck four out in his suit jacket, just in case. Amanda had no interest, but maybe now that it's been a few days, she'd like to look at them; read the cliche poem on the back.

"You okay?" he asks, trying not to hover over her. He stands cautiously by the door, reaching behind him to close it shut. He can hear the girls' little footsteps hurriedly racing around their bedroom, rushing to put away all of their things, because they love to watch him flip the pancakes. He hears Billie mention something about extra sprinkles and tries not to laugh.

"I'm fine, I'm just — I needed a lawyer to look somethin' over for me," she says, and he raises his brows in concern. "You happen to know one, Counsellor?"

"I might..." he cautiously jokes, not quite sure what she's getting at. He joins her on the bed, and she hands him a manilla folder with a stack of papers inside. "Should I open?"

"Please."

"Okay."

She bites her lip and watches him scan the documents, watching the lump in his throat as he realizes what he's looking at.

"Are these...?"

"Yes," she confirms.

"And they... Al and Declan both just relinquished their rights to the girls? Just like that?"

"They weren't usin' 'em anyway," she says with a shrug, a serious statement that comes across more as a joke.

"Amanda, are you — are you sure?"

"Are _you_ sure?" she asks, narrowing her eyes at her husband, teasingly poking him in the side. He says of course; of course he's sure. He's been sure about both of those little girls since the day they were born. "Then all that's left to do is signin' those papers."

He's still wide-eyed, and if she's seeing things right, there are a few tears forming in the rims of his eyes. "And then they're legally _mine_?"

He knows how the law works — _obviously_ , it's only his life's purpose and work — but he's still blown away by this gesture. He was completely fine being Sonny Carisi: the Rollins' girls' stepdad, 'Dada' and 'Daddy' just to Billie and Jesse once the girls realized he was the closest thing they'd ever have to it.

Even when his family questioned him: "Are you _sure_ you're okay being with someone who doesn't want another one with you?" and "Does it bother you that they're not your own?", he never once doubted his love for either of the girls, and he didn't need it to be legal, or official, or anything like that.

"I don't know, what do the textbooks say, Fordham Law?" She takes her tongue between her teeth and laughs, leaning into him with a breath of relief. The closer she gets to him, the more she realizes he _is_ crying.

"THE PANCAKES!" He hears Jesse shout behind the bedroom door, Billie a few steps behind yelling about how hungry she is. "WE'RE WAITIN'!"

"Better get to it," he says in a soft voice, slapping the folder closed and placing it down onto the bed, promising Amanda he'll get to it right after they eat. "Gotta keep my daughters fed."


	7. seven.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could alternatively be titled: "Wait, Sonny Carisi has his OWN apartment?" a.k.a., I remember he has to live _somewhere_ when he's not cooking spaghetti at Rollins' house.

**move in with me**

─────────

He uses the hand that isn't holding his phone to dig in the pocket of his suit pants for the keys he shoved in there during his race to leave — two-and-a-half hours after he was supposed to, three lengthy case files deep later — his office. It's nearing eleven o'clock now; way too late to head over to Amanda's on her night off, so he just shoots her a quick ' _home_ ' text that she'll get in the morning and then sets his phone back in his jacket pocket.

He hears a sort of buzzing, but thinks it's just his tired mind pretending she answered him back within seconds. Twisting his key in the lock, he breathes a sigh of relief that the day from hell he had is over. Ms. Hadid'll demand the completed paperwork in the morning, but for now, it's just him and his bed and six blissful hours of semi-decent sleep.

"Don't freak out, Dominick."

Easier said than done, when you're wiggling out of your suit jacket and all of sudden your fatigued eyes look up and Amanda Rollins is telling you _not_ to freak out from her comfortable spot on your couch.

"Rollins, what the —"

She's holding the spare key she's used, what, _twice_?, between her index finger and her thumb, sprawled out on the couch with one of his throw blankets. He forgets when he even gave that key to her. The TV is on low, and it's the homiest this place has felt for Sonny Carisi in... well... ever. The last few months, this little apartment has just been a $2000-a-month overpriced storage unit, a place he showers before work on occasion if he forgets to pack a spare suit when he stays at her place. He comes a few times a week to clean, restock the fridge, get his mail, and then heads right back to Amanda and the girls.

"I just texted," he says in a breathy voice, whipping his phone out of his pocket and holding it up. "Thought it was too late for me 'ta come over on a school night; figured you and the girls were asleep."

"The _girls_ are," she confirms, "but Sienna's watching 'em for me for a little bit."

"It's your only night this week off, why did you —"

She lifts her right arm out of the blanket to pat the spot next to her, silently urging him to sit down. It takes him a second to gather himself — to shake off the initial surprise of his girlfriend sitting on the couch in his usually-empty apartment without much of an explanation. Truthfully, they've barely spoken since... well... it wasn't an _argument_ , really, but they've shared exactly two texts and a thirty-second phone call since this morning.

"You know why I'm here," she admits, straightening her posture, her legs unfolding so that she can spin to face him. "You brought up the fact that you feel you don't _officially_ live with me, or here at your place either, and — and I just want you to know, I wasn't ignorin' you."

"Your not answerin' my messages kind of made me feel like you were ignorin' me."

"I was busy, and so were you," she says simply, and he just huffs in response, obviously annoyed with that explanation. "Dominick, I take you seriously, you know."

"Look, I had no right 'ta be pissed. I forgot a change of clothes and took it out on 'ya. It's not your fault I only have one drawer at your apartment."

Through gritted teeth, she says, "It's a _small_ apartment."

"Yeah, don't remind me. Look, are you stayin' ova' or what? I don't have much in the fridge."

She nods to the coffee table, the uncapped beer bottle resting on one of his custom coasters — a gift from his cousin Nikki during last year's Carisi Family Secret Santa; she remembers how excited he was about those stupid little coasters and how important it was to use them, to not create water stains on the wood.

She twirls a strand of hair between her fingers, leaning her neck to one side. "I don't sleep well at the apartment without you." 

At the break in her voice when she confesses that to him, he feels his chest get tight. Truthfully, he doesn't get a good night's sleep without Amanda Rollins in his bed anymore, either.

"But it's clear it's not working," she starts, and when she catches the way his face falls, she continues. "Not — not _us_ , the space. The girls, they're gettin' older; they're gonna need their own rooms. And us, you — you deserve more than room for two pairs of pants in my dresser drawers."

Speechlessly, he gulps, not exactly sure what she's getting at. When she's nervous, she talks in circles before getting to her point. It's like she's afraid of messing up, afraid she'll say the wrong thing and he'll run the other way. He stops to slide one of his arms under the blanket still draped across her body, giving the top of her thigh a squeeze. Without saying anything, he wants to let her know she can say whatever in front of him; he's not going anywhere. If he has to spend the rest of their lives showing her that, he will.

"I didn't answer any of your messages today because I was on the phone."

He raises a brow at her, his grip on her thigh loosening, letting his hand slide down to her kneecap. It's the bad knee, so his touch is gentle. "For... ten hours?" he queries. 

"Sort of," she says with a shrug. "Dominick, I was — I found an apartment. I found _us_ an apartment. I think. I just, I have to call the realtor in the morning and ask to see the place in person first, but it's —"

He interrupts her with a waving hand, for once not the one in this duo talking at a thousand miles a minute. "Wait, you're movin'?"

"Um... _we're_ moving, Sonny, if you want to."

He looks around at his apartment living room — the mismatched furniture, the absence of the girls' toys all over the rug and in every corner of the room, none of Frannie's ropes and balls laying around. Quickly and unsurprisingly, Carisi's home became Carisi's 'place to keep his things', and home is with the Rollins girls; the spaghetti dinners, the bedtime stories, the 7 A.M. racing around to tend to two kids and a dog before work. Honestly, nothing in him feels any sadness toward not having to reside alone in this place anymore.

"Wait. You're askin' me to move in with you?"

"Dominick, I don't think I could've made it any clearer," she chuckles, only a hint of frustration in her voice. She can't be mad at him for taking a second to register Amanda Rollins making a serious committment. If anyone knows what a rarity that is, it's him. "It's 11 o'clock; excuse me for forgettin' the cake and the champagne."

He presses his lips together, his overjoyed state masked heavily by the exhaustion of today. 

"I'm asking you to consider getting a new place with me, because it's clear all of us have outgrown the one we're in now, and I hate that you have to come home to... this."

"Hey, it's not that bad," he says jokingly but defensively, nodding at the floor. "That rug cost me three-hundred, 'Manda."

"Then it can come with us to the new place."

"You tell the girls yet?"

She sighs, leaning her head back into the couch cushion. He slides his arm over to support the back of her head — partially because he knows how uncomfortable this couch is, and partially because he's missed her all day; missed touching her, being near her, having her right next to him like this. He thinks that's when you know you're ready to live with someone, all the time. Truthfully, he doesn't ever get sick of being around her, and for someone who's never had a problem doing things on her own her entire life, Amanda never seems to mind his constant company, either.

"I'll tell 'em once it's official," she promises, taking a hand up to push back a few strands of his hair that've fallen onto his forehead.

"You, and _us_ , mean so much to me, and I —," he pauses, his voice low as he leans in close to her. "No one's ever done anythin' like this for me before."

Amanda lets out a bitter laugh. "They better not've. I'll find the bitch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little out-of-order from my recent chapters, but just a sweet little piece I couldn't get out of my head. Thanks so much for the kudos, for the sweet comments, and just for reading. I'm having so much fun writing this story and I'm so thrilled you guys are liking it. <3


	8. eight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mid-2021. Amanda gets hurt after a case gets violent and — for once — she allows someone to be there to help her pick up the pieces._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note:** This chapter contains mentions of violence/sexual assault.
> 
> This one's set in a time where Carisi and Rollins are obviously together, but the move-in didn't happen yet, for anyone who might be a little confused. This fic isn't really in chronological order because I think of these little ficlets as I go. I know the 'Amanda-gets-hurt-on-a-case' thing has been written quite a handful of times before, but I guess I wanted to try my hand at it, too. 
> 
> I'm so appreciative of each and every one of you reading this story, leaving comments/kudos, etc. Thank you, thank you!! It makes me so happy to be sharing it with you. :')

**"thank you for being here"**

─────────

Kat's battered and bruised — a split lip, one of her fingers broken, some abrasions on her arms from fighting him off.

Amanda's lucky she made it out of there not only _alive_ , but without shooting the bastard's brains out for what he did to her, to Tamin, to the innocent wife and children he'd been taking his troubles out on for the last year in quarantine, cooped up in their tiny apartment doing _who knows what_ to his four innocent victims.

After what felt like almost total defeat, they finally got the gun from the guy, his baseball bat, too. All three kids and the wife made it out unharmed, and he was in the back of a squad car where he belonged.

After today's events, Liv declares that there be at least one male detective accompanying one of the women on a DV case from now on. Fin guilty sits at his desk examining both Rollins and Tamin as they enter the bullpen, each of them holding onto one side of their Captain's arms as they hobble in, the extent of the injuries they sustained at the scene not yet fully understood by either of them. They reluctantly agreed to a quick follow-up at the hospital as per Liv's demands, got all of the injuries checked out, but both detectives honestly just wanted the night to be over.

Rollins appears to be in worse shape than Kat, but the son-of-a-bitch did a number on both of them. Liv whispers to him that it isn't his fault; that they're understaffed and overworked and he had to deal with another, _just as important_ , case. By the sympathetic way Fin's looking at Rollins, he knows that's not true; this was the more important case.

Carisi gets there a few minutes after he gets Liv's call that Amanda and Kat are returning from the hospital. He would've just met them there, but because of the pandemic, it wouldn't have mattered. He isn't legally _anything_ to Rollins, and they wouldn't have let him up to see her anyway. Instead, he'd been waiting in his office for two hours for an update, shakily sitting in his chair unable to focus on the mounds of paperwork in front of him. The anxiety that sat idle in his stomach while he waited for her to get discharged from the hospital was something Pepto just couldn't fix.

"S-So they're back, Cap't?"

Liv hears his voice shaking, tells him to calm down, that neither of them are too badly hurt — that ' _Rollins is going to be just fine_ ', she adds.

"Why'd you let her go in there alone?" he presses accusingly, panic clearly evident in his voice, and Liv reminds him — _in case he forgot_ — that they've been low on detectives since he left. Despite how long he's been an A.D.A., it still stings the same, every time.

"She saved the lives of his wife and his three kids — two of those kids which this low-life was sexually assaulting for over a year," Liv adds through the sound of Carisi's car racing to the 16th Precinct. On a normal day, his heart would swell with pride at his girl saving an entire family from a more-than-shitty situation. Today, everything around him is blurry and he's definitely about to get pulled over for speeding. His staggered breath on the other end of the phone distracts her from saying much else aside from, "Get here when you can. And in one piece, okay? She's fine, Carisi, she's fine."

He and Liv know more than just about anyone that you don't leave a scene like that 'fine', but he just gulps and hangs up the phone.

When he arrives, Fin's the first one to stand up and greet him. He's got both hands in his pockets, a somber look on his face, and all he says to Carisi is that he's sorry; that it shouldn't have happened like this.

"Yeah, it shouldn't've," Carisi agrees sharply, and then he asks where the hell Rollins is. Fin explains she and Kat are at their lockers cleaning up, changing out of their bloody clothes. He feels himself suddenly sweating, loosening the grip his tie's got around his neck. He's seen a lot during his years as a cop, as an A.D.A., and just as a human being living in New York City his entire life, but he's not sure he's ready to see Amanda emerge after a perp beat the shit out her.

He takes a seat at her empty desk, distracting himself by looking at the pictures of the girls. The girls who are currently home with their sitter, completely unaware of the condition their Momma is about to come home in. He's already thinking of ways in his head to explain what happened tonight to Jesse, who he knows will have a thousand questions at bedtime. After what feels like an hour but in actuality is about four, five minutes, he hears the familiar clicking of her boots behind him and turns his body slowly, not quite prepared to see the damage this lowlife did.

Kat, with a visibly split lip and what looks like a black eye forming on the right side of her face, touches her hand gently to Amanda's shoulder, whispering something Carisi can't quite make out. He thinks about Kat, hopes she has someone at home who loves her like he loves Amanda, someone she can curl up into and forget about this day — this nightmare — with. He shakes off that thought as quickly as it came when Amanda walks over to her desk, wordlessly reaching over him to close her laptop, slip it in its case, and then grabs her phone off of the desk top, all without uttering a sound.

He grabs her wrist as it's in motion, and she bites the inside of her cheek. He's not entirely sure, but it looks like if she speaks, she'll sob. He nods slowly and loses his grip on her, waiting for her to walk a few steps ahead before standing up to join her. He notices her limp, the uncomfortable way she's walking, but he doesn't say anything besides, "Let me drive 'ya home."

"Sure," she weakly replies, her arms wrapped around herself, a shrunken version of the detective she usually shows up here as. 

─────────

She's quiet until they walk up the stairs to her apartment — her steps slower than usual, despite how much she's craving the comfort of her tiny apartment, the arms of her girls wrapped around her. Her body doesn't let her rush like she wants to. She winces a few times, and shakes her head when he not-so-jokingly offers to carry her on his back. 

"Just tryin' 'ta help," he says as brokenly as she looks. When he lets out a shaky breath, she steps closer to him, looping her arm through his from behind. Most of the bruises are covered by the suit jacket he draped over her tiny form when they got out of the car, but her knuckles are scraped up and he can tell how much she's gonna ache all over in the morning.

"I know, Dominick." He feels her plant a shaky smooch on his shoulder blade, her way of saying she's thankful he's here with her, even if she doesn't actually say the words aloud. 

He fetches out his set of keys to her apartment from his pocket and looks back at her for confirmation that it's okay to go inside, warning her that two little girls are behind that door, past their bedtime, waiting impatiently for their Momma.

"'S fine," she confirms, her arm still through his as he pushes the door open. Frannie barks, Sienna has to restrain a squirmy Billie who's reaching out for Amanda with a cry, and Jesse darts to Sonny's legs and latches on.

"Momma! Uncle Sonny! You're back!" Jesse yells in excitement, a certain clinginess in her voice. Despite being in the dark on exactly why Momma's home later than usual, she knows things are off.

Amanda tries to crouch down to her baby girl's level to kiss her hello, but can't without wincing in pain. Her bad knee is even worse after today's incident, so she stands back up straight and catches the concerned look on her five-year-old's face, looking back at Sonny to intervene.

"Uh, Jess... Momma got a boo-boo at work," he states simply, patting the top of Jesse's head. Jesse seems to accept that answer with ease, racing over to the coffee table to pick up today's drawing of their stick-figure family and waving it up proudly. In this one, Sonny's got a briefcase and Momma has what looks like a gun on her belt. Billie's got a red blob that _might_ be Elmo on her dress. Ever-observant, that kid is.

Sonny holds up a finger to her and tells her he'll go hang it on the fridge in a minute, next to the other twenty family portraits Jesse colored this month. He quickly grabs Billie from Sienna, dismisses her for the night, and then grabs Amanda's hand in the hand that isn't holding up the baby, helping her sit down on the couch.

"Momma, does it hurt?" Jesse pokes and prods, gently, but still pokes and prods Amanda's thigh. Sonny reminds her to take it easy, and Amanda whispers that it's okay, doing nothing but wrapping her hand around Jesse's little fingers, tugging her in close and planting a kiss to the top of her head.

"You know what," she starts, taking a second to think how she should answer her, "it does — hurt. I'm gonna be okay, though. C'mon, go let Uncle Sonny tuck you in; it's past your bedtime."

"Sienna said we could wait up for you," Jesse argues, her hand under her chin as she stares up at Amanda with that look that'll usually get her an extra bedtime story or twenty more minutes of her TV show. 

"Well, I'm here now, so go, c'mon." 

Sonny, with a fussy, overtired Billie still in his arms, walks Jesse to bed. Amanda hears her murmuring a thousand-and-one questions about if Momma'll still have boo-boo's tomorrow morning as they walk down the hall, and by the time he's got them both tucked in, she's exhaustedly laid out across her couch with a blanket draped over her entire body, not quite ready to have to see all of the scrapes and bruises she obtained at the scene.

When he gets back out into the living room, he lets her know that both of the girls went down without a fight, and asks her if she needs anything.

"No," she says coldly, her mind obviously elsewhere. There's a scrape across her chin, a little bruise forming by her collarbone, and her sore neck is leaned deep into the couch cushion.

He sits at the very end of the couch, carefully pulling her feet into his lap. "Amanda..." he says, his voice hoarse. 

This somewhat reminds him of the night Bucci took her; the two of them alone in her dim-lit living room, only sat side-by-side instead of this closeness. He didn't dare kiss her, barely did anything aside from comfort her in the elevator of the precinct as she cried into his chest. When they got to her apartment, he made her dinner that she didn't eat and slept on her couch while she slept in her bed with both of the girls. In the morning, she thanked him for being there and said not much else.

The way he feels about the situation is the same — terrified to lose her, terrified at how hurt, physically and mentally, she's left. His fear is even worse now, more heightened, if anything, because when a woman tells Sonny Carisi she's probably in love with him in the same voice Amanda Rollins told him in earlier this year, he doesn't take it lightly. 

She opens her eyes and lifts her head off of the back of the couch, her lips pressed together. "I don't regret fightin' him," she starts. "And neither does Kat."

He's not going to argue with her about how they should've called for backup; should've called Fin before the guy got the chance to get violent with them. He doesn't ask how fast it happened either. As much as the lawyer-side of him wants to press for answers, the side of him that's just sitting here in the quiet with the woman he loves decides not to do any of that. "I — I know you don't," he says.

"Son-of-a-bitch got what he deserved; rapin' his two innocent little girls because he's what, bored in quarantine? Sick bastard. I hope you don't even give him the chance for a plea deal."

He wants to add: ' _Not without beating the crap out of you and Tamin_ ' to her first comment, but he doesn't. "Not plannin' on it." 

She sits up a little bit more, reaching one of her hands out to brush back his hair. "I know that — I know that I need to think before I take risks like that, though," she continues, almost like she can read the things he wants to say but isn't saying on his face. "I have the girls, and — and _you_ , and I'm — I feel bad makin' you worry about me. I don't know how much grayer you can go, but I think I'm the cause of it."

At her joke, he tries to crack a smile, but it's forced. 

"C'mon, you can laugh at my joke, Dominick."

He swallows thickly, shaking his head. "Seein' you like that, not bein' able to do anything about it... it killed me, Amanda. I can't ask you 'ta not take risks; 'ta not do your job. You're the best detective I know, it's just..."

"I know, I have a lot to lose, a few people who'll miss me," she finishes.

"Amanda..."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"Still, I'm sorry I made you worry."

"I'm _fine_ , really, it's not a big — I'm fine," he assures her, almost sounding like he's trying to convince himself rather than her.

"We're here, together, that's — that's what matters to me." He nods softly and she slides a hand underneath his chin, giving it a pinch. "Thanks for the boo-boo thing before. With Jesse. I don't want her worrying about me, too."

"She still does," he tells her, remembering all of the recent bedtime stories that ended in Jesse begging for him to tell him a story about Momma's dangerous job as a cop on the big, bad streets of New York City, instead. Her worry is always masked by fascination, but it's still obvious, even at five, that she already knows Amanda's job isn't as safe as her friends' parents' jobs. 

"And thank you for — for bein' here," she tells him, the corner of her lips forming the tiniest smile. The déjà vu of this moment trips him out, only this time she's not walking him out of her apartment in a haste and her voice is not as numb. This time, she lets herself need him; she's not finding reasons for him to leave or pretending that everything is fine. She leans forward to rest her chin on his arm, and he kisses the top of her hair for what feels like a long time. "You can stay, right?"

He looks at the clock by her TV. It's already 9:50 P.M. He swears this day has been one of the longest of his career, and yet it's still not over.

He's got a handful of arraignments in the morning, but he'll just wash the suit he's got on tonight and wear it again tomorrow, already preparing himself for Hadid's snide comments about that.

"Uh, yeah, I might need a shower though. You got some blood on me in the car."

"That was probably _his_ ," she says cheekily, sitting up slowly. "C'mon, let's go."

"Y-You wanna talk about anything?"

She bites her lip, taking both of his hands in hers so that he can help hoist her up from the couch. "Maybe in the morning. Right now, I want a warm shower, and you."


	9. nine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Glasgowman's Wrath, seven years later..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read [my latest Rollisi one-shot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29567265), a little tiny bit of this was included in there, but I wanted to expand on it and let it be a part of this story too. If you haven't read it - no worries, you'll still get the gist! The idea comes from [this tweet reply](https://twitter.com/warrenleightTV/status/1360967976523038721) on Warren Leight's Twitter, and being that this episode is one of my faves ever, I couldn't get this idea out of my head. Also... Jealous!Sonny and a Nick Amaro appearance? Yeah. 
> 
> Plot basis comes from 'Glasgowman's Wrath' (16.6). Nick Amaro comes in hot from California, still yummy as ever... ;)

**glasgowman's wrath, seven years later**

─────────

The familiar banter between the former detective duo is enough to make him slam down his briefcase on the desk next to hers harder than he means to. He clears his throat, asks if he's interrupting anything — the familiarity of that phrase he used almost a decade ago when they were all assigned to the Tensley Evans case haunts him, remembering the moment he walked in on Amanda and Nick together in a tent and figured out for himself that the rumors he'd heard around the precinct were indeed true.

Amanda looks up first, her head a little too close to Nick's for the A.D.A.'s liking — but that's only because he's sleeping with her, because they've been together for what feels like years despite being just a little less than one, because he's like a dad to her two girls, because she's the love of his life. He thinks that's why seeing her working one-on-one with Nick Amaro stings all the way from his over-gelled hair to the leather shoes he let himself splurge on last paycheck.

"You needed somethin', Counsellor?" It's Nick who asks, noticing the look on Carisi's face as he stands behind he and Amanda, squinting at the window they've got open on his laptop.

"Just 'ta be kept in the loop, Det— Wait, what exactly should I call 'ya? You're not a detective anymore, right?"

He notices Amanda bite the inside of her cheek in embarrassment, and Nick just smirks. "Amaro's fine," he says coldly.

"Amaro it is," Carisi easily agrees, and then he steadies himself up against her desk, half-sitting on it, his hands in the pockets of his navy suit pants.

"So," Rollins swallows, interrupting the obvious tension in the room, "the M.O. is the same as 2014. The girls held a so-called _friend_ hostage in their basement — Perry and Mia, at least, it doesn't look like Zoe was involved."

Carisi's eyes widen at the mention of those two monsters, finding it hard to believe it's been over seven years since they got off with what felt more like a warning than an actual punishment in Family Court.

"Yeah, I know," she continues, waving the case files in her right hand before setting them down on her desk. "They stabbed her, sexually assaulted her, and even scalped her with stolen kitchen scissors. It's — It's bad, but once we get a confession, they —"

"Can be tried as adults," Carisi finishes, and Rollins nods, obviously not minding that he just finished her sentence for her. Nick's brows raise at the exchange, but he stays quiet in his seat next to Amanda's, his hands folded in his lap as he listens on.

"Right, and Nick isn't officially part of this investigation, but he was a big part of it years ago and having him here'll help," she explains when she can see the obvious distaste on the A.D.A.'s face at the company beside her.

"Will it?" Carisi asks, and Nick laughs sarcastically at the retort. "I'm just sayin', Detective, Kat is pretty sharp. She could catch up quick."

"She's still dealing with that Upper West Side rape case, the one with the girl who —"

Carisi waves a hand, remembering the details of yesterday's disturbing, gory sexual assault of a sixteen-year-old ballerina by her instructor. "Yeah, yeah, the dancer," he finishes, not necessarily trying to interrupt Rollins; just saving the small talk with the hopes of preserving some alone time with her after work later. She notices his haste, the urgency in the way he's impatiently tapping his fingers on her desk top, and starts to collect the 2014 files and separate them from the 2021 ones, handing the entire stack to the A.D.A.

"Here's everything... Counsellor," she says, a pause in her words before calling him 'Counsellor', probably trying not to call him 'Dominick' in front of Nick Amaro. 

"Thanks, Rollins," Carisi replies, his lips tight and his demeanor serious. They've gotten good at this — keeping their relationship discreet, and professional, and so private you'd never really know anything was going on outside of work unless you _knew them_ outside of work. "You guys headin' to interrogation? The girls are both here already?"

Nick nods in confirmation. "Rollins'll take the lead, since she's —"

"Actually employed by the NYPD?" Carisi concludes with a snicker, and Nick mumbles something under his breath. "Sorry, I didn't mean anythin' by that, I'm just surprised to see 'ya."

"Likewise." Nick stands up, pulling his hands out of his pocket and then he reaches one hand out to shake Carisi's. "Never thought you'd make it in sex crimes as long as you have, but you beat me by what, three years? It's impressive, Carisi."

"Yeah, well some days I honestly don't know how I make it through," Carisi replies earnestly, catching Amanda's subtle glance out of the corner of his eye. "You two don't forget 'ta keep me in the loop. Get 'em talkin'. Captain wants a confession by the end of our shift, and it's gotta be legit."

─────────

"Hey, you wanna talk about it?"

She's circling a finger around the rim of her glass, her other hand underneath her chin. "Not really."

"It's a heavy case, Rollins," he presses on, and he feels the heat of her thigh pushed up against his under the bar top. It's the closest he's been able to be to her all day long. After she and Amaro got a half-assed confession from Mia, they'd spent the next two hours getting down to the details with Perry. The Captain thinks it can be tried as a psych case once more by the girls' lawyers, but with Carisi on their side and the fact that both girls are almost twenty, she's more confident about a guilty verdict than last time. Still, in this bar, two vodka sodas later, he's cringing at the details in the case file; at the things these two did to their poor sorority sister. 

"Yeah, it kind of... I don't know. It makes me sick. Thinkin' of my girls — _our girls_ — gettin' wrapped in stuff like this."

He bites down on his lip at her mention of 'our girls', and then he sets a hand on her thigh. "They'd neva'."

"They're five and two."

"Still, look at who they've got raisin' 'em."

She lets her hand fall from her chin and places it over his, squeezing his fingers with hers. "Speakin' of, you owe Billie a bedtime story sometime this week, remember?"

"I remember." Just as he raises his watch into view to check the time — 8:02, still time to pay the tab and tuck Jesse in bed — he hears someone call Rollins' name. 

"Hey, you stalkin' me Amaro?"

"If you telling me you'd probably be here throwing it back after work counts as 'stalking', then fine, I'm guilty," Nick laughs, sliding into a seat next to Amanda, two down from Carisi. "Hey, Counsellor," he greets Carisi. "Didn't expect you here."

Carisi feels Amanda pull her hand off of his, watches her stand up to slide both of her arms around Amaro, pulling him in for a quick hug. He kisses one of her cheeks, and then he shoots a nod in Carisi's direction. It feels like an intentional burn.

"I always come here," Carisi tells him, more defensively than he means to sound. "I mean, with — with Rollins."

"Well, she's good company," Nick replies simply, accepting the vodka soda the bartender slides over to him and clinking his glass against Amanda's. It's been what, six years since they were a thing (whatever that ' _thing_ ' was) and yet Carisi still feels his chest get tight when he watches Nick look at her. It's stupid, she'd never, and he's probably got someone back in California, but it's still weird, still uneasy to think about Nick Amaro in her apartment, in her bed, touching her the way he does now.

"Is she? I'd only know from the what, three days a week we come here togetha'," Carisi replies smugly, rubbing his lips together. He feels Amanda's hand graze the side of his leg, half of it maybe an affectionate gesture and the other half of it probably to wordlessly tell him to cut the shit. He's not sure.

They talk about the case over the drinks they nurse, then about how grateful Liv is for Amaro flying in after she'd asked him the favor, about how different things are now than they were. They talk about her girls, how Gil and Zara were meant to be California kids, how Fin is getting married in November and whether or not he invited Nick. He did, but without a plus one because Fin Tutuola isn't a 'plus one' kind of guy.

Carisi feels out-of-place during the detective talk, because his work resides in Hogan Place now, and he carries a briefcase and he's obligated to care more about the law than the why's of the crimes. 

"Your interrogation skills are clearly still there," Rollins compliments, and Amaro shakes his head. "I'm serious. You're the one who blindsided Perry with that fake Instagram account."

"It's called a _Finsta_. All of the kids have 'em. Zara and her friends do, which is how I knew about it," Nick says with a shrug. "I just took a guess and searched her name hard enough."

"Well... the guess worked, and now it'll be easier for _you_ ," Rollins starts, instinctively poking Carisi in the arm, his sleeve rolled-up just high enough to feel her warm finger on his skin, "to prosecute these little brats."

"You're not givin' yourself enough credit, Amanda," Carisi argues, and both Amanda and Nick raise a brow. "I'm just sayin', you had a hand in the case too, Rollins."

Nick nods in agreement, and then Carisi watches him wrap a hand around Amanda's wrist, cringing into his vodka soda glass at the gesture. "She sure did," he agrees. "Look, hey, I'm gonna head back to my hotel, but why don't we catch an Uber together?" The eagerness in his voice is obvious, and so is the way he's looking at Amanda.

Carisi catches the way Amanda's eyes widen, but he sits still in his place with two hands tightly wrapped around his drink, knowing if he opens his big mouth he'll be sleeping in Frannie's dog bed tonight — and maybe all week-long.

"I mean..." Nick continues, smacking his lips together. "Interrogating two barely-legal criminals isn't exactly 'catching up', right?"

"No, it isn't, but um," Amanda starts, side-eyeing Carisi, "I have a ride home already. Carisi offered before you got here, is that still — still good with you, Dom— Counsellor?" 

Carisi, his weakness for her overpowering the overwhelming sense of annoyance he feels at watching Amaro interact with Rollins, says, "Yeah, yeah, 'course," in his softest voice. She smiles subtly in his direction, and if he can read her face right, she wants nothing more than to get out of his bar and be home with her girls, with him — her family.

Without thinking, she idly plays with the button on Carisi's sleeve, her lips pressed together. "I'll close the tab. Nick, you'll — you'll get back to your hotel okay?"

"Yeah, no worries," Nick says, his hands up, nodding in Carisi's direction, "but if he still drives the way he did when we all worked together, I'll say a prayer for you in the Uber."

Carisi rolls his eyes, letting out a frustrated breath. "She'll be fine," he says between gritted teeth, one of his hands finding its place on her thigh. Nick's eyes follow the gesture.

"Better drive safe, Counsellor," Nick winks, and then he stands up and throws a few bills down on the bar. "That should be enough. Uh, see you tomorrow, Rollins."

─────────

"It's so stupid," Amanda says, her voice low. She's absentmindedly playing with the stirrer in her coffee. "We slept together for a little over a year, and that's all it was."

Kat takes a sip from her own coffee and rubs her lips together. "So what, he's pissed you're working together again?"

"Somethin' like that," she tells Kat, "but he won't just come out and say it."

Kat nods in understanding, the Counsellor one of the harder people to read amongst all of her coworkers — the weird, little family she's been part of for the last two years. She knows minor details about Rollins' relationship with him; the little parts Amanda's shared with the Junior Detective while working side-by-side on cases together. Stakeouts and long drives to perps' homes get boring, sometimes, and Rollins finds Kat, for the most part, endearing and easy to talk to.

"Look, he made the choice to leave, and it's fine, I'm fine with it now, but it's — Nick's helped us out, that's all. We're stretched thin; we've been stretched thin since Carisi left."

Kat laughs knowingly, sarcasm underneath it. She and Fin have been stuck on the ballerina rape case for the last two days, and they still haven't connected every dot.

"Nick tried to get me to go back to his hotel with him," Amanda adds, whispering, and Kat's eyes widen. "In front of Dominick."

" _I mean_ , that'll piss a guy off," Kat comments. "What did he say?"

"It's more about what he _didn't_ say. We got home, kissed the girls goodnight, went to bed, and then just kind of... lay there.""

"To be fair, I did the same," Kat says. "This last week has been _hell_."

"Which is why having Nick on the case hasn't hurt it. He was able to get into Perry's head better than I was, and that's — that's all I care about. I don't look at him in any other way aside from the fact that he's a detective who retired too soon; he's good at what he does — _did_ — and that's my only opinion of him."

"And did you tell Carisi this?" 

"He should know."

"Amanda..." Kat starts, one of the rare moments where she calls the Senior Detective by her first name instead of just 'Rollins'. "No matter how well he knows you, he can't read your mind. He's got a lot going on up there, which definitely explains the crankiness with me six days a week," she half-jokes.

Amanda sighs, running a hand over her forehead. "I know. You're right. Okay. I'll tell him."

─────────

It takes him a second into hearing footsteps to look up from the paperwork he's buried in — Mia Harris' and Perry Gilbert's entire file, from start to finish. Their lawyer wants a plea deal, blaming insanity of course, and Carisi just can't let that happen without fighting for justice for the girl they tortured.

He sees Nick Amaro in his view first, and then she's a few steps behind him. 

"We just came to say good luck at Arraignment today, Counsellor," Nick starts, and Carisi gestures for both of them to take a seat opposite his. "I'm leavin' tomorrow morning; it's my week with Zara. You'll keep me posted on what happens with the girls?"

"I don't have your number," Carisi states blankly.

" _Dominick_ ," Amanda chimes in, sitting in the empty chair next to Nick's. "What he means is," she starts, turning to face Nick, "we'll both keep you updated."

Nick, obviously appreciative of Amanda's presence, not quite sure where he and the Counsellor stand, just says a small 'thank you'. Carisi asks them if they need anything else; that he's pretty occupied with hours of work left to do.

"I also came with Rollins because I owed you an apology," Nick continues, and Carisi furrows his brows, idly tapping the pen he's still got in his grip onto the stack of papers in front of him. "I clearly got in the middle of something at the bar — askin' Amanda back to my hotel like that."

"You asked her 'ta share an Uber, but good to know the undertones of that offer," Carisi replies with a snicker.

Nick turns his head to look at Amanda. "I'm sorry about that, Rollins, I just — I didn't know you two were —"

Carisi watches Amanda swallow, not sure whether or not she's ready to confirm what's going on between her and their A.D.A. "It's fine," she says in a quick breath, nodding at Nick, "no one — no one really knows; we keep our work life and our private life separate."

Carisi's stunned at the ease of her admission, still nervously playing with the pen in his hand. 

"No need for an explanation. I was out of line, thinking there was a chance you'd end up in my hotel room."

Carisi clears his throat at that.

"Sorry," Nick quickly apologizes. 

Amanda brushes it off. "It's fine, there was no way you would've known, but now you do, so..."

Nick nods, standing up and squeezing Amanda's shoulder. "I'll see you at the bar tonight?" he asks, and when she says she'll stop by for a bit, he adds, "You too, Carisi?"

"Sure, yeah, I could use a drink — or ten," he replies, dropping his pen to shake Nick's hand before he finds his way out of his office. Amanda stays planted in her seat across from him, fidgeting with her hands in her lap. He watches her head turn to watch Nick step out of the room, the door closing behind him.

"You okay?" she asks after a minute of quietude, the Counsellor burying his head right back into his work instead of acknowledging her presence. He works in a haste, like Amanda's not even sitting there. Something tells her he's still ticked off Amaro tagged along with her to his office.

"Yeah, fine, I just figured 'ya had to get back to work."

"It's slow. Fin and Kat are both there. Hey, Dominick, I'm — I'm sorry."

He closes the folder he's skimming files from to look up at her. "For what?"

"I never really told you what happened between — between Nick and I," she says.

"I neva' asked," he answers simply, coldly. 

Amanda continues, no defeat in her voice despite the indifference in Carisi's side of this conversation. "Well, I'm telling you, because I — I trust you, and trust means that even the things I don't feel like sharing, it's — it's easy with you."

He clicks his tongue. "Was it serious? Fin said it was just —"

" _Fin_?" she questions with a low laugh, shaking her head at the irony that her Sergeant and former partner was the source of most of the precinct gossip, and the least prominent participant. "We slept together on and off, for like, a year, and then I realized he was just like every other guy I've ever been with, and it stopped."

"On his terms or yours?"

"I thought you _never asked_ ," she retorts, an emphasis on the words he'd just said to her.

"I am now," he says smugly.

"On both, I guess — both of us ended it. I don't know, it was just... sex, okay?" She's embarrassed at even the mention, and her cheeks get visibly hot. They've never had to do this before; no pressing about Declan or Al or any of the other guys she's been with. Something about Nick Amaro, though, it sets off something in Carisi, and it's probably because he was an outsider for the entire year he watched Amaro and Rollins subtly and not-so-subtly around one another. He remembers a handful of intimate conversations he'd walked in on, dozens of times he'd asked them if he'd been interrupting something. He's walked in on Nick quickly jolting his hand off of the small of Amanda's back, their heads close together in conversation that never included Carisi, the two of them convincing Liv to send them out on cases together despite them never officially being partners.

"He means nothing to me, and him being here means nothing to me aside from the fact that we're about to put away two girls who should've been locked up seven years ago."

"He asked you out at the bar, in front of me," he replies pointedly, ignoring Amanda's frustrated huff.

"He didn't know not to, I guess, but you — you saw how quickly I said no."

"You guys work pretty well together," he adds, puffing his cheeks out. He watches Amanda's reaction at that, at the soft way she looks at him. Amanda two, three years ago might've been annoyed at the back-and-forth of this, but the Amanda who lets him love her patiently sits in his tiny office and hears him out.

"I'd rather be working the case with you, Dominick," she admits sadly. "Watching you here, buried in paperwork from all of the cases we're scrambling to solve... I love it, and I'm — I'm happy you get to put that law degree to work everyday, but I'd rather watch you in there getting a confession out of those little monsters than flying in Nick Amaro to do it."

"I wasn't the best detective."

"That's not true," she debates. "You — you were the only one who could get Charlie Dorsey to talk; that homeless man in the park, the one who found Zoe after the girls stabbed her, remember?"

"How could I not?"

"Well, that day, I told Liv to send you in, not Amaro."

"You had my back then?" he asks, stunned, laughing under his breath. "I'm surprised. You and Amaro put in a lot of complaints to Liv about workin' with me in the beginning."

"A few, maybe," she replies, shaking her head. She lifts one of her hands up and slides it across the desk top, grabbing onto his wrist and giving it a squeeze. "Look, I came here because I love you, and just because I'm not ready to yell that out loud in the bullpen doesn't mean I don't. Working with Nick just made me miss you, okay?"

He stands up, taking two fingers and rubbing his temple. His eyes are criss-crossed from all of the Mia Harris and Perry Gilbert paperwork. "You didn't have 'ta come here to tell me you miss me, Amanda."

"Yes I did," she nods, standing out of her seat and walking around the desk, stepping closer to him. She slides a hand up his wrist, holding onto it. "I — I sometimes act like you have to read my mind, and that's not fair to you. You know I don't want Nick, but it still bothered you, and I don't blame you. It was weird, walking in and seeing him, I know."

"'Weird' is an understatement, Rollins," he confirms.

"C'mon, let's go get lunch. Just me and you."

"Now?"

"Yeah," she laughs, tongue between her teeth, "you need to eat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got a liiittle long, but I hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for all of the love on this story so far! Should I keep going?


	10. ten.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rollins doesn't like big deals..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small fluffy little piece that wrote itself because I'm a sucker for these kinds of moments. :')

**"you don't like big deals."**

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She's bouncing Billie on her leg, tucking away her frustration in a round of 'Shhh's, glancing at the fuzzy time on the cable box: 10:35, way past the baby's — and Amanda's — bedtime. 

He'd texted before to say he'd be home late; lots of case files to look over before Monday morning's arraignments, Hadid breathing down his neck about not leaving the office until the work is done, suggesting if he took it home there'd be... _distractions_ , not forgetting to shift her eyes to the family picture of him and Amanda and the girls in the photo frame on his desk before she slammed his office door shut.

The bedtime routine became seamless on nights she'd been fortunate enough to have him beside her to tuck the girls in — he'd happily take over bath time, two or three rounds of a bedtime story to settle Jesse down, even animating the girls' stuffed elephant's voice as he narrated _Goodnight Moon_ despite his own eyes threatening to close with heaviness from another lengthy day in court.

Billie's cries slow down, Amanda leaning forward to smooch the baby's forehead, her little body feeling a lot less warm than it did just a half hour ago when she woke up with a slight temperature. At the sound of his key twisting in the lock, Billie coos, reaching her arms out. She knows he's home, and that means _he's_ going to have to be the one to tuck her back into bed — which Amanda and the four hours of sleep she got last night are _fine_ with.

He steps in almost noiselessly, expecting three fast asleep Rollins girls behind the front door. He starts by slipping his shoes off before he even steps on the welcome mat, pocketing his keys so they stop clanking together. He looks up from his spot in the doorway when he hears Billie call out for him, her tiny voice seemingly loud in the silent apartment. 

"Hey, hey Billie, I'm here," he greets, sliding out of his suit jacket and hanging it up on the coat rack. He walks over to Amanda and Billie, both of them still on the couch, nodding to Amanda, an exhausted-but-endearing grin forming at the corners of his mouth at the fact that he didn't miss all the girls' bedtimes tonight after all. "What's she still doin' up?"

"Fever," Amanda says simply, standing up from the couch and handing Billie to Sonny, who happily scoops her up. "Guess she wanted someone else tuckin' her in, huh?"

"I got her, I got her, c'mere honey. Hey, why don't you head to bed?" Billie rests her head on his shoulder, smiling cheekily around her sucked thumb. Her whole demeanor changes now that Sonny's home. "Say goodnight 'ta Momma."

"G'night, baby." Amanda caresses Billie's arm, leaning in to kiss the back of her hair, and then stands up on her toes to kiss the side of Sonny's mouth. It's her silent way of saying 'thank you' — thank you for showing up and being here for the girls and tucking the baby back into bed despite working five more hours than he was supposed to. He's the most consistent man she's ever known. Showing up is just who he is, who he's always been, and now she and the girls get the pleasure of him showing up for them every day, in every way.

It feels like hours, not the six-ish minutes it takes Sonny to lull Billie back to sleep and into her crib, as Amanda lay in their bed looking up at the ceiling. 

"You're so much better at it than I am," she whispers, watching him untie his tie and then pull off his collared shirt. He's digging in the drawer for something to wear to bed and he looks up over at her laying there, raising an eyebrow. "It took me an hour of rocking her on the couch just to get her to stop crying."

"You did all the work tirin' her out; I just tucked her in is all," he debates, finding one of his old Fordham Law tees from the drawer and pulling it over his head. "Missed you today."

"I know," she snickers, feeling her cheeks flush, "you texted me that — _twice_."

"H-How was Jesse's thing, the — the parent-teacher conference?" he asks, genuine guilt in his voice like he's disappointed work made him miss it despite Amanda's protests that she'd never expect it of him to go.

"Great, yeah, she's very... _involved_ in classroom discussions," Amanda chuckles. "I wonder where she gets that from."

He throws his hands up in defeat. "I don't know, I think we're raisin' a future A.D.A., Amanda."

"Yeah, well she also bragged to her classmates about _you_ being a lawyer, so you and your briefcase are expected at the next Show-and-Tell."

"I'll be there," he promises, taking his watch off and placing it on top of the vanity. He runs his hands through his hair when he catches his reflection in the mirror atop it, and then squints his eyes shut.

"You find another gray?" she teases, watching him stare at himself in the vanity mirror in silence.

"Hey, 'Manda, I - I have somethin' to tell 'ya, but you can't freak out on me."

Slowly, and then all at once with sudden haste, she sits up from her place under the covers and crosses her legs, chewing down on her lip. Her eyes widen at his request, and she argues, "Well, when you put it that way, there's a chance I'm going to freak out."

"Just... hear me out, it was supposed 'ta be a surprise, but I figured you'd need a heads up."

"I don't like surprises, Sonny," she says sternly. 

He wiggles a finger at her, stepping closer to her side of the bed. "You don't like _big deals_ ," he corrects, "there's a difference."

"Sonny, what are you—"

He takes a breath — a shakier one than usual — and from behind his back, he pulls out his arm, something cupped in his right hand.

She swallows, eyeing the little velvet box he's got in his grip, and then looks up at him. If this were someone else, she'd look down at her lap, maybe at the floor, at her cuticles. It's not, though, it's Sonny — the man who'd quickly become everything and more to her, once she acknowledged he already _was_. So no, she's not nervous, just floored at the gesture. She knew it'd happen eventually, but she couldn't picture the moment in her head; Amanda Rollins was never the little girl who fantasized about any part of her future wedding, the wedding which she swore she'd never wanted... until him.

"Wait, is this because of what I told you the other day?"

"That you'd marry me? Yeah, kinda," he laughs, his nose scrunched. "I always imagined I'd propose to my future wife on a rooftop, overlookin' the skyline, maybe with some rose petals, a photographer capturin' the moment — but you'd make me sleep in Frannie's dog bed for a month if I did that, so, here we are."

"Wait, so are you askin' me to — to marry you?"

"Amanda, yes, I'm askin' you 'ta marry me here, in our bedroom, at..." He stops to raise his left arm, realizing he'd just taken his watch off. "And the ring is — it was my Ma's, and it's gold 'cause I know you hate silver, and I already got Jesse's permission, so she's gonna be one happy little five-year-old over waffles tomorrow mornin'."

It's endearing, how much love this man shows not only to her, but to the girls he's promised to love for the rest of his life, too. It's something they talked about, making sure he was fully on-board with knowing her girls would be the only kids he'd ever have; that Amanda was done making babies, even if a little boy with Carisi's head of hair and Amanda's tenacious personality was easier to picture in her head than she'd ever like to admit.

"Y-You asked Jesse?"

"Yeah, she circled 'Yes' in red crayon, so it was a pretty serious deal," he laughs. 

"Son — Sonny, come here." She tugs at the fabric of his shirt and pulls him down onto the bed with her, not realizing he'd dropped the ring box onto the comforter in the process. She finds the top of his hair and runs her hand through it, tugging him down to her level so she can plant a kiss on his lips. Remembering she never gave a confirmed 'Yes', she pulls her lips off of his for a second, only to be lured back in, Sonny's hand wrapped around her wrist. It seems she isn't the only one who forgot she never actually answered his proposal.

He hovers over her, both of his hands sliding down to her waist. "So was that a ' _yes_ ', or...?"

She bites down on her lip, her hands both firm in their place on each side of his cheeks. She looks up at him and just takes this moment in — his tired eyes filled with a lot of love, a little bit of anxiousness despite already confident that he knows her answer.

"Thank you," she says in a low voice, her head falling further into the pillow behind her with a breath. "For not proposing to me on a rooftop."

"You really would'a hated that, huh?"

"So much," she laughs, her head back and one of her hands slipping off of his cheeks to hold onto his waist. "But this, I — I don't hate this."

"Yeah, I figured you wouldn't mind. So?" He turns himself over, his body now beside hers on the bed, taking the hand that was wrapped around his waist and slipping his fingers into hers. The ring box is still at the foot of the bed, and he nods over to it. "Amanda Rollins, you've made me a better man — and your personal chef, and also a professional tea party host, thanks 'ta the girls — and I love 'ya."

"What can I say, I'm a sucker for a man in a tiara," she teases, her grip on his hand tightening. "I love you, and I never thought we'd get here, but yes, yes, of course I'll marry you, Dominick."

The expression on his face at her 'yes' is something she'd like to bottle up and save in every part of her mind for those not-so-good days, the hard days, to remind herself this man is really here, and he loves her, and her girls, and the life they've managed to create together — despite seven plus years of putting the puzzle together and taking it apart and putting it back together again and again. He finds her lips with his once more, his kiss deep and slow this time. She soaks every part of him in before pulling away.

"Good, 'cause I've got a little girl expectin' celebratory waffles in about... eight hours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to everyone who has been so kind toward me while I've been writing this story. I definitely have a few more little one-shots up my sleeve, so this won't be ending _juuust_ yet. I'm so thrilled so many of you are reading and enjoying this - it means the world to me, ily all. :)


	11. eleven.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The night it happens, for real..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember Carisi's girlfriend? Me neither, because she only existed in [deleted scenes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ILyb8a8j4KU) [on YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=alnZQfonsc0). I've been waiting to write Jealous!Amanda for eleven chapters, and after a reader commented that they'd like to see her get jealous.... Me too, girl. Here she is.
> 
> This one is set sometime between 21x14-ish and 21x20. Think like, the Khaldun-era, which is the only reason Carisi would even *consider* another woman, okay. AU, obviously, I think, or in my weird little mind/this particular fic's world, _this_ is where it happened — for real. 👀

**if I knew that this door was open...**

─────────

He's pacing like a madman when she finds him at his desk, and she's not even sure whether or not he heard her knocking. She twists the door handle and lets herself in, figuring that the door being slightly ajar means he wasn't... _not_ asking for company.

She holds the paper deli bag up with a laugh. "Hey, so I got Ham Cappy on a roll, lettuce, tomato, all the works, I even got you —"

He twists his head around slightly and nods at her in lieu of a greeting, holding up a finger. With a closer look, she can see he's on the phone.

"Yeah, well you could'a fooled me," he says into the speaker, his head shaking animatedly as he talks. He's still walking back and forth in circles around his desk, and Amanda has to stifle a laugh at him being a nervous phone-talker; the treading through the office, a shaky hand brushing through his hair, the way his eyes are squinting as he's listening to whatever is being said on the other end. "Alright, so that's — that's cool, with me, 6 o'clock. Yeah, okay, you too, Arielle."

Rollins raises a brow at that, doing her very best to conceal the confusion of hearing that name come out of his mouth right now. She knows about _this much_ about Arielle and not much more: She's the reason Carisi sat at Rollins' kitchen table one night moping into his spaghetti until Jesse's bath time. A girl dumping you via a phone call while you're working will do that to a guy. 

He hangs up his cell phone with a huff and slides it into the pocket of his suit pants, smacking his lips together before turning his body to give her his full attention. "You stayin' for lunch?"

"Depends, is _Arielle_ comin' by and splittin' this with you?" she asks quizzically, lifting the bag with the deli sandwiches up before tossing it onto his cluttered desk. It lands on a stack of files he'd gotten halfway through skimming before Arielle called, she's guessing.

"You heard that, huh?" He laughs lowly, rounding his desk before taking a seat behind it. He nods for her to join him in the chair across his, beginning to unwrap his sandwich. "Ham Cappy, thanks Rollins. What'd you get yourself?"

"Just tuna, but yeah, I heard your — your little phone call," she confirms, sliding into the chair that's already pushed out, but ignoring the paper-wrapped tuna bagel he's holding out for her.

"Look, I should'a told you," he starts, taking a second to chew, "but I guess we started talkin' again — uh, Arielle and I."

She nods, her eyes narrowing. 

"What is it, Amanda?"

"Nothing."

"I know you, I know your faces," he argues. "You're judgin' me — that's a judgin' face."

She stands up hastily, both of her hands gripping the arms of the chair as she leans her body forward. "Well what did you expect, Dominick?!"

Obviously taken aback, all he can manage is an, "Excuse me?", dropping the half-eaten sandwich out of his hands back onto his desk top.

"I mean, you sat in my kitchen for four hours whining about how shitty it was that she dumped you over the phone, and now you're what, forgettin' that ever happened because you're bored?"

"I'm not forgettin', Rollins, and I'm _clearly_ not bored since you guys seem to love to keep me busy," he chides, gesturing to the scattered files all over his desk; half of which he's yet to even get to today.

"You asked to be here, Dominick," she retorts, not without an eye roll from Carisi. It's not the first time she's thrown his transition to the D.A.'s office in his face, and as long as he remains in her life and reminds her exactly why she misses having him around the precinct with her everyday, it probably won't be the last. "I just don't know why you can't — why you can't see that you even talking to that girl is settling."

"It's just catchin’ up, Rollins. Just dinner."

She scrunches her nose. "That vegan crap?"

"It's not 'crap', Amanda," he groans. "It's actually not that bad."

"You're sitting here eating a pile of Italian lunch meat with me, so I'd beg to differ," she points out with a sarcastic chuckle, and then she sits back down in the chair. Before speaking, she runs a hand through her hair with a shaky breath, and watches him watch her. She's not entirely sure why, but something about these thirty-minute office lunches with him have been the best parts of her shitty days, and walking in on him talking to Arielle completely dampened the mood. She's not even hungry, anymore. 

"Look, it's your life Dominick, and if you want to screw it up by meeting up with Arielle for kale smoothies, then I can't tell you not to."

"It kinda seems like you are," he retorts. "C'mon, I've got...", he pauses, lifting his watch into view, "ten more minutes to eat; stay and finish your sandwich here, please."

"You wasted fifteen of those minutes —", she starts, and then she palms her forehead and tells herself not to finish that sentence. "Never mind. I'm uh, I'm not hungry, so I'll see you later. Or not. I've — I've gotta get back anyway, Fin just texted."

When he shoots a muddled look up at her, she pats her phone — that definitely hasn't vibrated with a message from Fin in the time she's been here — as if to confirm, and then she stands up and pushes in his spare chair.

"What? Are you serious?"

"As serious as that Italian dressing stain on your tie, Counsellor," she nods, and he grunts when he looks down at it. 

"So you came here to... hand me a sandwich, lecture me about a girl you don't even know, and now you're leavin'?"

She shrugs stiffly, knowing showing any emotion in front of him is useless; then she'd have to sit there and explain _why_ the thought of him and Arielle makes her so infuriated, and she's not quite ready to divulge into those feelings — whatever they may be — just yet.

"I'm not mad at you, I'm just... disappointed, I guess," she admits, her eyes softening. "You're — you're probably the best guy I know," she continues, "and I'm not trying to watch you cry into a bowl of spaghetti with my daughter and I again because this chick decides to ditch you through a text, this time."

He folds both of his hands on his desk top, nodding slightly, wordlessly. Usually, between the two of them, he's the one doing the talking; he doesn't look like he's used to this.

"Dominick, I..." her voice breaks, and she pockets both of her hands.

Noticing the tension, he interrupts, "Next time I'll cry over chicken parm at my sister Bella's, okay Rollins?"

"Yeah, okay, I — I really do have to go now," she insists, tapping her hand against the pocket her phone is in and tugs down on her lip before she looks over at him. "See 'ya, Dominick."

─────────

Billie's down by 7:15, and then it's just she and Jesse and Candy Land on the living room floor. Part of her wants to stop Jesse's trek to the Gumdrop Mountains so that she can pick up her phone and see if he's texted. She's doubtful, because he's probably in the middle of the raw mushroom course, but part of her wants to see a message from him checking in.

She's ready to crown Jesse the winner of Round Six when there's a knock at the door, and then another one.

"Stay there," she warns Jesse, and Frannie barks at the second knock. "Shh, shh, it's just —", she interrupts her own words when she unlocks the door and sees him standing there with a bouquet of flowers in his left hand. "Carisi."

"Uncle Sonny!" Jesse yells a little too excitedly for someone whose baby sister is asleep in the next room, darting to the door and clinging onto his legs before Rollins can ask what the hell he's doing here. "Wanna play Candy Land?" she asks, leaning on his knee and lifting her head up, her lips in a pout as she begs him and tells him she won _four_ games tonight.

He laughs, shaking his head as he simultaneously pats Jesse's. "How about I tuck 'ya in instead, huh?" he suggests.

Jesse agrees to the idea, and Rollins never minds him stepping in to help her with the girls. After spending a half hour getting a fussy Billie down she doesn't argue it; she kisses Jesse goodnight and tells her to remind Uncle Sonny to put the nightlight on. He grabs Jesse's hand in his free one, and then sets the bouquet down onto the coffee table as he passes it. Amanda nosily wants to look at the tag to see what it says, but she decides against it and instead waits for him to finish putting Jesse to bed before bringing anything up or even interfering in the bedtime routine.

She's cleaning up the board game when he comes back out into the living room, his steps more cautious, now that both of the girls are asleep. 

She drops the last few game pieces into the box, closing it shut and sliding it onto the coffee table, and then uses her knees to help her stand up. He reaches a hand out to steady her and help her, and for a second, she forgets about that moment in his office today and takes his hand willingly. 

When she stands, she hugs both of her arms around herself and lets out a shallow breath. "H-How — How was your date?"

"You mean the date I'd still be on if I didn't come here?"

"I didn't ask you to come over, Carisi; I knew your date was at six."

He bites the inside of his cheek before reaching over onto the coffee table to pick up the bouquet of flowers. "These are for you, and the girls, just — y'know, just a thank you for lettin' me be such a big part of your lives."

"Thought they were for —"

"Arielle's allergic to lilies."

"'Course she is. Are they not vegan?" 

He's trying not to laugh at the stoic way she asks that. "Amanda."

Her arms are still around herself, the tension in her body lessening the more she looks at him standing here in her apartment. Despite her frustration at him for the Arielle thing, seeing this man show up at her doorstep with flowers, tucking in her baby girl, not even blinking at the Candy Land mess on the living room floor... none of the feelings she's been feeling toward him lately have managed to disappear, even on days she talked herself out of them.

"So... how was your date?" she repeats again, a little more nervousness in her voice this time, not sure if she's ready to hear his answer.

He just chuckles. "I didn't go."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah," he takes a rigid breath, a hand on his forehead, "because I thought about what you said..."

Guilt taking over her voice, she shakes her head and says, "I — I didn't mean — Well, I _did_ , but you didn't have to listen to me. I was just..."

"Jealous?" he finishes the sentence for her, not without the faintest of a smirk.

She swallows thickly before she answers, taking a seat on the right side of her couch, waiting until he joins her. "Somethin' like that," she softly admits, a hard feat for Amanda Rollins, playing with her hands in her lap.

"I figured that out afta' you left, I'm just — I'm confused," he tells her, taking one of his hands and brushing it against her arm. "I know you went out with that Sergeant," he starts to explain, watching the way her face falls at the mention, "what's-his-name, Khaldun?"

"Yeah, that was two times," she defends, "and it never went anywhere because I — I think you know why."

"I thought that door was closed," he says. 

She presses her palm to her chin and squeezes her eyes shut, knowing full well she'd shut him out in certain parts of her lives when he left for the D.A.'s office.

"I had no idea you felt this way 'til you showed up in my office today and practically called me an idiot for tryin' again with — with Arielle," he explains, hesitance as he says her name. 

"I didn't say ' _idiot_ ', I just said it was a bad idea."

"Rollins, if I knew that _this door_ was open — even slightly ajar," he continues, pointing to her and then to him, "I — I would'a neva' even tried to walked through _that_ door. Not when I've been waitin' for this door — your door — 'ta open for the last, what, six years?"

"Yeah, well I guess I didn't give you a good reason to try openin' it, huh?"

He laughs at that fact with his head back. "It sounds stupid, but this job gets lonely — you know that, I know that — and I just don't want 'ta be alone," he confesses.

She does know, more than anyone. She pauses to slip her hand into his, weaving their fingers together slowly. It's the first move like this she's initiated, and despite her evident feelings, she's still cautious, her hand shaking as she lifts the back of his hand to her lips, placing a smooch on his skin.

"You're never gonna have to be alone, Dominick, I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for all of the love you've shown this fic!! More to come. :)


	12. twelve.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Some cases just hit home harder than others..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note:** This chapter contains mentions of death/sexual assault/a very heavy case. 
> 
> ~~Also contains a parallel to one of the most iconic (IMO) Rollisi scenes ever, because I couldn't resist.~~
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this one (the heavier, angst-filled ones, go figure) and I hope you all enjoy it too. As always - the love, the comments, the kudos... they never go unappreciated, you're all the absolute best for reading along as I go and it means so much to me! :)

**too close to home.**

─────────

"You're losin' it, Mikey," she starts, ready to jump down his throat but knowing she needs to maintain her cool to coerce him into a confession. The way this son-of-a-bitch is eyeing her as she attempts is enough to make her want to take her bad knee and jam it into his side until he's unconscious. "You're already in deep shit, so just tell me where they are."

"I'm not going to do that."

"Did you bury 'em?" She narrows her eyes, her voice slow and stalled — guys like this, they need to be eased into their admissions. He's working her, and she's working him right back. "You look like the type of guy who's got a buddy who knows about some woods — you dump 'em there? Huh?"

He ignores her accusations and in the absence of a confession, he just smirks.

She lifts her left hand up and frustratingly palms her forehead. 

"I see your wedding ring," the perpetrator comments snidely. "You're telling me _your_ husband is a saint?"

She leans forward onto the steel tabletop, her fingers rolling into fists on instinct. If they weren't waiting for details on what he did with the girls' bodies, she'd knock him out right here. Two girls; seven and twelve, and this piece of scum had been sexually assaulting them since the day he married their mother. Yesterday, he decided he'd assault them and then dispose of the bodies — something about having his wife all to himself, the girls being too much of a burden for him now that they're getting older, the years of rape and abuse eating him alive because he didn't know how to stop. Sitting here and looking at him leering as he teases what he _might've_ done to those innocent girls is harder than she assumed it'd be when she took lead on the questioning.

"My husband," she starts through gritted teeth, "is my girls' stepdad, just like you are, _were_ — and he'd _never_ to do my girls what you did to your poor babies." 

Suddenly, the bastard laughs. "Never say never, detective."

Something in the way he says that causes Amanda to lunge forward, grabbing him by the wrist that's chained to the interrogation table and digging her nails into him. "I just _did_ , you piece of sh—"

"Rollins!" Liv calls, peeking her head through the door of the interrogation room and summoning her Senior Detective to take a break — _now_.

"I had him talkin', Captain," Rollins argues when the door shuts behind her, frustratingly taking a hand and running it down her arm. Her whole body feels tense; it's felt that way since the second they got the call about the girls' murder.

"Look, I'm not doubting your ability to get a confession, but I think this case hits a little too close to home for you, Amanda," Liv says with sincerity, and Amanda knows where she's going with this, despite not wanting to hear it. "The youngest daughter is Jesse's age, and they're both from different fathers, which is why their stepdad rejected them so much."

"Carisi has _nothin'_ to do with what this son-of-a-bitch did to his baby girls," she argues. "He tried to get in my head, but I — I didn't let him."

"Fin and I saw otherwise, Amanda," Liv debates, touching a hand gently onto her detective's backside. Fin sympathetically shoots her a look from where he's pressed against the two-way mirror. "C'mon, take ten, Kat'll step in. Confessions like these are easier to hear when you don't have kids, trust me."

Rollins doesn't argue, not having the energy nor the desire to go back in there with that bastard, if she's being honest. Instead, she sits at her desk, pulls her phone out of her coat pocket, and dials Sienna to check on the girls. As it rings, she leans back in her chair with a sigh. Sienna answers after three rings and catches her up on the day, tells her she and the girls stopped at the park on the way home from school for a little bit to burn off some energy.

"Make sure Jesse does her art project," she reminds the sitter through the phone, "and — and Dominick should be home to take care of dinner, if — if we get outta here in time. Okay, yeah, thank you Sienna."

Speaking of Dominick, he enters the bullpen in a haste, finding her sitting at her desk. Having just hung up with Sienna, she's now mindlessly scrolling on her phone, waiting until she can be of use to Liv and the squad again. "Hey," he greets, with what she makes out to be a half-smile, but she's too drained to tell, "he lawyer up?"

"This guy is a prick," she starts, looking up from her phone to shake her head, "he wants to tell us the story from his side and his side only — in little bits and pieces, because this piece of shit is proud of what he did — what he did to those poor —" 

He bends down to her level and lifts a hand to her face, brushing a strand of hair off of her forehead when he notices the tears pooling in her eyes. Before they were married, he might've looked around the room to make sure everyone was occupied first before touching her like that. "Hey, what — Did he say somethin' to you? I thought you were leadin' the interrogation?"

"I was, but Benson pulled me out," she confirms, taking the pads of her thumbs to swipe underneath her eyes. "He told me his wife's girls were a burden, so that's why he did what he did. He dumped the bodies, he admitted that, but I'm not sure if he had help or where he put 'em, or..."

"What else did he say?" he asks with narrowed eyes, knowing his wife is purposely leaving out parts of the conversation. She just refuses to elaborate, letting out an unsteady breath as his hand falls from her cheek. 

"Kat stepped in for me, I'm sure she'll guilt him into a confession in like... two hours," she retorts sarcastically, not without an eye roll at the fact Benson put in Kat to replace her. Despite her Captain's good intentions, she's still frustrated. She almost had the guy.

Carisi agrees with a muffled laugh, despite his growing soft spot for the Junior Detective over the last couple of years. 

"Carisi, I didn't see you come in," Benson interrupts, the exhaustion of the day and the intensity of this case catching up to her, her voice hoarse. He straightens his stance and holds onto the side of Rollins' desk with his free hand, his briefcase gripped tightly in the other. "Amanda catch you up?"

He clears his throat. "Y-Yeah, all good. I guess I'm not needed here until he lawyers up, huh?"

"We'll keep you in the loop," Liv promises with a sincere nod. "Why don't you both go home, be with the girls?"

"I can stay, Capt —"

"That suggestion was more from me as your friend, not your Captain," Liv explains with a soft smile, "and I think you deserve a break."

"I can't leave now, Liv." Amanda shakes her head, insistent on staying. She's not one to just take off mid-case; she's here for the results and she wants to watch this walking piece of garbage pay for everything he did to his wife's girls.

"Look, you got him to tell us there were bodies to look for, and you established a solid timeline," Liv counters, ignoring the detective's tenacity, not making staying around an option.

Rollins is disgusted just thinking about it — he married their mother when the youngest was four, Billie's age. It makes her stomach churn. 

Carisi looks at Liv who's looking at him for assistance, and then he places a hand on Amanda's shoulder. "C'mon, the girls are just gettin' home from school, right? I'll make us all dinner. When's the last time the four of us got 'ta eat before six o'clock together?"

"I'm not hungry," Amanda argues, knowing she'll be thinking about this sick case and nothing but this sick case over the chicken parmesan her husband is probably dying to cook for their family.

"Keep your phone on, Carisi," Liv chimes in, pointing at the A.D.A. before turning toward her office. Carisi nods in compliance.

He picks Amanda's coat up from off the back of her chair and holds it out for her. 

Both of them walk silently, Amanda a few steps behind him, to the elevator. He's the one who reaches out to push the button, making room for her to step in front of him before entering himself. He watches her pocket both of her hands in her coat, rocking back and forth on her heels. It feels like forever, waiting for the elevator doors to shut.

He watches her shaky breathing, the tension in her stance, the anxiety of today crashing into her and weighing her down. He waits a second, no more than that, before reaching a hand out to rub her shoulder. "Honey, you okay?"

She tries to look convincingly fine at first, just nodding, a soft but not confident, "Yeah" leaving her lips. As the elevator doors close and they begin their decent downstairs, she fervently shakes her head, her mouth quivering, burying her face into her elbow to muffle her sobs.

"N-No, no — I'm —" Most cases like these are painful, but they're part of the job they signed up for and the only way out is through. This one, as Liv confirmed, hits a little too close to home for her — for her family. "How fucked up do you have to be to rape and torture your —", she pauses, letting Carisi scoop her into his arms, her head falling into his chest with ease. "Those girls became his the second he married her," she says between tears, "and he — he just — he just got rid of 'em?"

"I got you," he promises, the same words that he spoke years ago, right in this very elevator. Since then, he's proven them every day; just how much he's got her. "I got you."

Last time they were here in this elevator like this, Amanda desperately crying into him, she'd just been taken hostage by Bucci. They were nothing, no more than two friends and former partners — a detective and a new A.D.A — with all of these harbored feelings. It'd been the first time she'd cried like that, with her entire body, in front of Carisi. Right now, she just hopes no one else gets into the elevator until they reach their floor so she can sob the stress of this day away into her husband's embrace.

She pulls away from him when the elevator stops, waiting to step out despite the doors opening and a rush of people waiting to come inside. Slipping her hand into his, she lets him lead her out of the building and onto the street where his truck is parked.

"I tried to relate to him," she speaks up, her voice still sore from crying. He raises a brow at her, dropping his hand off of the door handle on the passenger side of the truck, instead taking both of her hands into his to let her know she's got him. 

"You did good, 'Manda — Liv knows how good you are at your job, you don't have 'ta prove it to anyone."

"He told me to 'never say never', that —", she starts, unable to form the words, her lips pressed together, "I know you'd never hurt our girls, Dominick, I just — I lost it on him when he implied you could."

He understands this is the part she left out back at the precinct, not asking her to elaborate any further. He steps forward to cup a hand around the back of her head, pulling her into him to press a kiss to her forehead. He feels her body steady against his.

"Let's get home to our girls, huh?"

─────────

It's hard for Rollins not to feel guilt and agony for those two innocent girls that lost their lives at the hands of their stepfather when their apartment door swings open, two blonde little heads racing across the living room floor to cling onto she and Dominick. Because of him, she and her girls have everything and more, and _he_ still argues that he's the lucky one.

"Momma! Daddy!" The girls yell in unison, each of them grabbing onto a parent — Jesse on Amanda's legs, Billie on Dominick's. She learned very early on in her years of being a parent that when your kids find out your job includes any ounce of danger... the hugs are always a little tighter, the bedtime stories are always a little bit longer, and your kids never protest eating dinner together at the kitchen table as a family.

Amanda watches her husband pick their youngest daughter up with ease, swooping her into his arms and planting a kiss to the top of her head. With Billie still in his grip, he leans down and ruffles Jesse's hair, kissing her just the same. Her heart would swell more at the sight if what happened in that interrogation room today didn't.

"Alright, we're gonna go get cleaned up and then... it's chicken parmesan time!" 

"We get to eat with you _and_ Momma?!" Jesse exclaims with a gasp, used to dinners with just one parent, or with Sienna, or 8 PM leftover spaghetti from the night before after both Amanda and Dominick get home late and are half-asleep as she's animatedly talking about what happened at second grade recess today.

"Wait, _really_?!" Billie adds, leaning her head into his, her little cheek brushing up against the shoulder of his suit jacket.

"Uh-huh," he mock-gasps back, leaning down to the ground to set Billie down, telling both of the girls to go wash their hands so they can help him grate the cheese — a popular activity in the Rollins-Carisi household since the girls were old enough to hold a cheese grater. He'd always propped them on the counter, their little eyes following his every move as he prepped a dish. He enjoys every moment spent with the girls, but cooking Carisi Family Recipes he'd known since he was old enough to read his Ma's recipe cards was definitely up there in the top five.

The girls excitedly race to the bathroom to get ready, and Amanda turns to him with a sigh. She's a little calmer, a little more at ease than she'd been back at the precinct.

"What?"

"Nothing," she replies, her arms wrapped around herself as she looks at him with pursed lips and a shake of her head.

"Why are you lookin' at me like that, then?" he asks, laughing through his words.

"I just, I love you, that's all."

"Oh," he nods, biting the inside of his cheek. "I love 'ya too, hon."


	13. thirteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **near miss /ˈˌni(ə)r ˈmis/ _noun_** : a bomb or shot that just misses its target. _a.k.a. the aftermath of a heavy case for Detective Rollins and a nostalgic morning after for Sonny Carisi._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got... _heavy_ , and I know it seems like all I've written is angst for the last couple of chapters, but that's just where we're at. *shrugs* If anyone wants something happier just let me know - I'm open to writing like, Sonny and the girls eating pizza while watching the sun set on the East River.
> 
> Regardless, I hope you enjoy this part; I always looove the angsty-ish ones. As always: Your love/comments/kudos/subscriptions/etc. on this story have blown me away, and the reason I keep writing it is because of all of you out there reading it. I decided today that it'll have twenty chapters, so we've still got a little ways to go. :)
> 
> Thank you all - I seriously love you for still reading along this far with me. :*

**near miss**

─────────

It could've been her; one little step to her left, and she would've been taken out — probably gone, dead, never would've got to see her precious little girls grow up like in so many of those recurring nightmares she won't talk about with even her therapist.

Instead, she's here, explaining to IAB that her shot was a good one; that this son-of-a-bitch didn't deserve to see tomorrow. They agree, jotting down the formalities about the shooting at the brownstone tonight. She barely had time to clean up the blood off of her boots before she and Sergeant Tutuola got escorted down here to clarify the night's events, step-by-step. Despite Captain Benson's praises for their handling at the scene, the Internal Affairs Bureau characteristically swoops in and demands the Detective and Sergeant get cleared through them before this story has a chance to make it to the press with any false detailing in the morning.

As Captain Curry gravely writes down all of the details, all Amanda is thinking of is the two twin boys at the scene, probably not much older than her Jesse, watching a cop take down their father. 

He pulled the trigger on his gun first, and her instincts told her she had just a second to react. Fin held his screaming wife before she could entirely fall to the ground, asking over and over if he was really gone. Beyond the pool of blood at her feet from his decent to the floor, the blur in her vision at the realization that she just shot someone who would've _killed her_ if she didn't, and thinking about the three most important people in her life sitting at home with no real knowledge of the DV call she and Fin got sent out on tonight, she swears she hears this woman sigh a breath of relief through her sobs. The bastard's gone, and he'll never hurt her again.

Captain Curry sets a hand on Amanda's shaky shoulder, says, "Good work, Detective Rollins — you and your Sergeant handled this one in the only way you could've", and then tells her that it's almost midnight and she should get home to her family. "I'm sure the Counsellor has been waiting anxiously for you," she comments, almost snidely, Amanda taken aback by the nod to her personal life. It's a thing, it has been a disclosed-and-dealt-with thing since long before they were married, but once your relationship is old news, the mentions of it dwindle down and everyone pays attention to their own crap again. It feels foreign to hear it being brought up.

With an unsteady hand — the hand she held her gun in before taking the guy out — she slips into the pocket of her jeans and pulls her phone out, typing a simple _> > Home soon, I love you, tell the girls_. The phone vibrates back, most likely his swift response, because there's no way he _isn't_ up waiting for even if it's a school night and the kids have been tucked into bed since eight. Her eyes are heavy, but behind the tiredness of them, she can picture him waiting up on the couch in all of his anxiousness; tapping his fingers on the arm and ignoring the 11 o'clock news that's playing faintly in the background. Liv called him and gave him all of the details while she wrapped things up with IAB, told him that it wouldn't be necessary to find a sitter at this hour for their girls when Amanda'd be on her way home soon. After ten assurances that Amanda was alright, that she got the son-of-a-bitch before he could take her or Fin down, Liv told him to try and get some rest as if for a second, he'd actually heed that advice.

She swipes her thumb up to view his message, just _> > OK, I love you_, and then pockets her phone again, more than ready to get the hell out of here and tuck this night into the back of her mind until her next session with Dr. Hanover.

─────────

When she swings the door open — softly and without a creak, the girls still have school in seven hours — he's sitting wide-awake on the couch with both of their daughters, one of his hands absentmindedly smoothing the top of a passed-out Jesse's hair, his other hand wrapped around a sleeping Billie. Amanda's chest is tight at the sight, and then at the thought that if she did something different — took a second too long to grab her gun from its holster and shoot — she might've never seen the three of them like this again.

She swallows thickly and combs her fingers through her hair before bending down to take her bloody boots off, tossing them aside, away from the girls' shoes. She'll deal with them in the morning. His eyes are just following her, and when she looks up at her husband she can almost see the lump that's been sitting in his throat since Liv's quavery phone call as she was racing to the scene to meet Amanda and Fin.

Shaking out of her jacket and tossing it onto the coat rack next to one of his, she takes cautious steps to the couch; both not ready to tell her girls anything about tonight aside from the fact that Momma had to work extra late, and also putting in her best efforts to keep them asleep. 

She reaches one of her hands out to stroke Billie's cheek, her heavier sleeper of the two. She barely stirs. "I-I got her," she whispers, hoisting her youngest into her arms undisturbed as she pulls her from Sonny's grip, wincing at the extra effort it takes to pick up the limp five-year-old. Her babies aren't babies anymore, and Billie being almost half her size as she cradles her in her arms is a painful reminder of it.

She brings Billie to her bedroom, manages to get her partially tucked in under her blankets, and plants a longer-than-usual kiss onto her warm, rosy cheek. She studies every inch of her baby girl before closing the bedroom door shut, her stomach dropping at the thought of never getting to do any of _this_ again.

She's been at risk before — held at gunpoint, her life threatened, hostage situations where the not-so-confident part of her debated on whether or not she'd get out alive, — but this time, there's so much more in her life to lose. 

By the time she gets back into the living room, Jesse is wide awake, begging Sonny to stay up for five more minutes so she can tell Amanda something funny that happened at school today.

"Momma's tired, Jess," he argues in his wife's defense, knowing the story about the food fight that happened in the cafeteria at lunch time could wait until at _least_ breakfast tomorrow, maybe dinner.

"I'm here, baby, tell me," Amanda greets her, and her eight-year-old is suddenly restless as she tosses herself into her Momma's arms. "Momma's here."  
  


─────────

He knows her, which is why he lets her crawl into their bed in the 2 A.M. quiet with nothing but a soft, "G'night, I love you", knowing she'll talk when she's ready to — even if it's a month from now during a rare, shared lunch break holed up in his office. She curls into his side, an arm draped tighter over his torso than usual. Her breath feels uneasy against his back, and he twists his neck behind him to peek at her before she shuts her eyes — weighed down by the utter exhaustion of the night, but somehow wide and deep in her own thoughts.

"I know you're thinkin' of the 'What If's'."

"You gonna try and convince me not to?"

He presses his lips together. "Uh, no, not — not tonight."

"I was just doin' my job," she says lowly. 

"Everyone knows that," he agrees. "You — you did great in there; you did what you had 'ta."

She swallows nervously in response, and the only noise in the room is some chirping outside of their slightly-cracked-open window.

"Just uh, just don't complain that I'm holding onto you too much, okay?"

"Neva'."

─────────

"Remind me why I'm here again."

"'Cause sittin' in cemeteries by myself is depressin'."

"Oh, and sitting with someone else in one... _isn't_?"

He shakes his head and pockets the keys to the truck after he clicks it twice, always paranoid about forgetting to lock it despite forgetting _once_ , maybe twice. After he does, he grabs her hand in his, linking their fingers together.

After a few minutes of walking a path that seems vaguely familiar, she stops and turns to him. "We've been here before, haven't we?"

"Me more than you." She raises a brow at his confession. "It's stupid... but I visit him sometimes," he admits, a break in his voice as they stop in front of the headstone he'd been seeking out.

It's Sergeant Michael Dodds', and the cemetery is familiar to her because she watched him get buried here on that grim May morning back in 2016.

"It's not stupid, Dominick," she assures him, despite clicking her tongue at the chilling feeling last night's events coupled with her husband's idea of an outing brings her.

His hand holds onto hers tighter. "The way he went out, it was — it could'a happened to you, the same exact thing, and I would'a lost my mind."

She squints at him. "So you brought me to his burial site to... tell me you're glad what happened to him didn't happen to me?"

"I brought you here because last week was uh," he pauses, lost in the heaviness of the words he's trying to say, "it was the anniversary of his passing."

Suddenly, she feels guilty, her cheeks hot. "Oh, I-I didn't know."

"I know," he nods understandingly. "People remember anniversaries, their kids' birthdays, who sat with who at a Carisi wedding ten years ago, but the heavy stuff like this... It's easy 'ta forget. What almost happened to —," he stops to breathe, "— to you last night reminded me of him, and then I realized I forgot 'ta visit him this year."

"You're a good person, Dominick," she says, enamored by his explanation, one of her hands stroking his forearm. "A much better person than any of us."

"I know I always say we can't think of the 'What If's', that it's our duty, that our job comes with these risks, but - but when I was sittin' up waitin' for you with the girls, I —"

She's looking at the etching in Dodds' headstone. "I know. You don't have to say it."

He sits in the silence with her for a few minutes, the day just as bleak outside as the day of his funeral. Despite being all those years ago, it was the first time any of them had lost one of their own at the hand of someone else, on the line of duty. The unspoken toll it took on all of them as a unit forever resides in the twisting feeling in their gut every time one of them gets a risky call. It was in the shared look between her and Fin last night as they approached the scene, in the quick _> > Going in, I love you, tell the girls too _text she scrambled to send before they pulled up to the brownstone.

"'Ya know...", he starts, letting go of her hand to slip both of his into the pockets of his jeans, "I think I fell in love with you that year."

"You think?" she jokes, furrowing her brows at him.

"No, I know, I just — I know it was a little later for you."

" _A little_?"

He breaths a sigh of defeat. "Fine, a lot later. You thought I was a pain in the ass."

"That's an understatement," she says, nudging him in the side.

"And now?" he asks.

"And now...", she starts, her mind flashing back to just seconds before the triggers were pulled last night on-scene, "I don't know how to be without you, Dominick."


	14. fourteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The scene of domesticity in front of her not only makes her heart swell, but for a moment convinces her mind that the pregnancy test shoved at the bottom of her bag in brown paper wrapping could read 'Positive' and she'd be absolutely fine with it." _or, Amanda has a pregnancy scare._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It only took me fourteen chapters, but I've been meaning to write something like this since the beginning. I love Domestic!Rollisi and I know y'all do too, so I hope you love this one.
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading along with me - your kind words about this story absolutely make my days and I love hearing from you! If you're out there reading, let me know what you think: which kinds of one-shots you like, things you'd still like to see, etc. We've got six more of these to go, so. :)
> 
> Also, do we like the parts where they're married versus the slow burn, will-they-won't-they? ~~I live in a world where they've been married since 2018, but...~~

**"I thought I could be."**

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She tiptoes into the apartment even though it's only 7:15, spots his briefcase and a few scattered files on the kitchen table next to a pizza box and the girls' pink plates with just the crust left.

He's usually on-top of the dishes and one hour ahead on the bedtime routine, but tonight she walks in to her husband and her girls playing a wildly competitive game of _Twister_ on the living room floor. 

"You lose, Billie!", her seven-year-old shouts, not budging from her position — one of her little legs draped over her stepdad's left arm as he uses his right arm to catch a falling four-year-old before she lands too roughly on the mat.

"I gotcha, I gotcha," Sonny assures her, and then he tells Jesse to be nicer to her little sister because Twister is harder for someone Billie's size.

"Fine, but I win _again_!" 

"Hey, I won that first round, remember?" 

" _Barely_..." Jesse debates, mentioning that he took his right hand off of green too soon.

The scene of domesticity in front of her not only makes her heart swell, but for a moment convinces her mind that the pregnancy test shoved at the bottom of her bag in brown paper wrapping could read 'Positive' and she'd be absolutely fine with it.

"Rematch!", Billie declares, standing up with both hands on her hips in insistence — Amanda has no idea who taught her baby girl to put her hands on her hips like that or taught her what a 'rematch' was. She's laughing as she watches Billie drop the matter when she notices she's home. "Momma! You're home!"

"And you're... covered in pizza sauce," Amanda notes, grabbing the bottom of Billie's t-shirt and laughing, leaning down to smooch her daughter's cheek. "What happened to cookin' tonight, Daddy?" she asks in her husband's direction with a snicker.

He's sitting cross-legged on the Twister mat, Jesse sprawled out next to him, her head on his knee, clearly tired from the amount of effort she just put into their game. He runs a hand through Jesse's hair and shrugs. "Cookin' would've meant no Twister, and I _promised_."

"He _promised_!" Jesse repeats Sonny from her spot on the mat.

"You... c'mere," Amanda wiggles a finger at her oldest daughter, summoning her over. With dramatic, tired strides, Jesse makes her way to Amanda and wraps her arms around her in a hug. "Is your homework done?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Then go get ready for bed. You too, kiddo."

Billie and Jesse make the trek to their bedrooms, and then Amanda holds an arm out to help Sonny up from the mat in the middle of the living room floor.

He stands up — with his wife's assistance — and grunts. "Damn, that game is harder than I remember. You guys finally arrest the guy?"

"Yeah," she confirms with a huff, not ready to explain that the prick they were bringing in for questioning was taken into custody around five o'clock. She had to make a stop on the way home, a stop that was easier to explain as, 'Staying late at work', for now. "I'm gonna go take a shower, 'kay?"

"No invite?"

"Dominick, the girls are still wide awake," she scolds, watching the way he's looking at her up and down. " _Definitely_ no invite."

He wiggles an eyebrow at her anyway. "Just testin' you. I'm gonna go help the girls get changed and into bed. Enjoy your shower. Don't miss me too much."

"I'll try not to," she retorts with an eye roll, used to his antics but not exactly in the headspace to enjoy them tonight. The crumbled brown paper bag inside of her bag makes noise when she walks toward the bathroom in their bedroom, but he's long down the hallway in Billie's room helping her change out of her pizza-stained shirt.

She sets her bag down on the rim of the tub, running the faucet on high so the sound of the sink water concealing all of her fumbling around — the nervous way her hands shake when she unboxes the pregnancy test.

─────────

The timer she set on her phone beeps, and it takes her a minute before she's gathered up enough courage to flip it over. It's been four years since she's done any of this — holed up in her bathroom alone, her chest tight as she waits on the result. The first time, she had no idea what it was even like to be pregnant; it was the last thing on her mind. The second time, she knew she was having another baby without even having to buy one of these at-home tests. This time, it's been so long since her body's carried her girls. The way she's been feeling feels _familiar_ , but not exact, and she's late and stressed and she just needs to be sure — even if the thing she was surest about before today was that she'd never have do this, ever again.

She takes a staggered breath and holds onto the edge of the sink before she peeks at the test. A definitive, clear-as-day _Negative_.

She tosses it — and the box it came in, crumbled so much it's not even clear what the box was _for_ — right into the garbage.

Finding out you're pregnant is its own entire emotion with a bunch of smaller, scattered emotions piled up underneath it. Finding out you're _not_ pregnant when you had a weird inkling you were? She can't make out why her forehead feels hot, or why she was expecting a different answer, or why she feels guilty either way; happy it's negative, frustrated and sad that she's mostly pleased it's negative when she knows (despite his protests) how ecstatic he'd be about another baby — one that's actually his, this time.

She stands up to sit on the ledge of the bathtub, the sink water still running. Maybe he'll think she's just in here taking a really long time to brush her teeth, or something. When she hears his footsteps enter the bedroom, she doesn't even look up.

He twists the doorknob on their bathroom door, and she curses at herself under her breath because she was too flustered with the test to remember to lock it. 

"The girls were waitin' for you 'ta say goodnight, but I — Hey, you okay?" 

She blinks the tears she wasn't even aware were there out of her eyes, swallowing. "Yeah, I'm just — I'm not pregnant."

He presses down on his lip, clearly bewildered at that out-of-nowhere statement. "Um, did you... _want_ to be pregnant, or somethin'? I'm a little confused."

She shakes her head, sucking in a breath when she realizes they tell each other just about everything; he'll get her to blabber about her weird moods this entire week eventually, even if it's two weeks from now on their ten-minute car ride from Billie's preschool drop off to the station.

"Did you — Did you think you _were_?", he tries again, treading carefully into the bathroom, taking his left arm back and shutting the door behind them to avoid any interruptions from two little girls who'll say they can't sleep and need four more bedtime stories before they can go back to bed.

"I thought I could be," she admits, and then she nods over to the trash can underneath the sink, watching his lips curl when he gets the hint about what's in there. "It was negative."

"Oh, well that's — That's a good thing, right? I mean, we — you said you were done makin' babies after Jesse cut Billie's hair that one time."

"God, and then you made it _worse_ ," Amanda remembers, now laughing at the image of an eighteen-month-old Billie walking around with zig-zagged baby bangs for a month.

"Are you okay?" He asks, genuine and sincere, because that's just who her husband is. If she wants a baby suddenly? Great, he's buckled-up and onboard. The rational part of him, though, knows how adamant she was about being done, and when he married her, he agreed with every part of him to be fine with that fact. "I mean like, did you want the test to say 'Positive'?"

"Oh, God no," she confirms, wasting no time to respond. "Sorry. It's not you, it's me, I just can't go through any of that again. I can't go through another pregnancy."

He steps closer to her, nodding understandingly, his eyes softening. "So, you're not pregnant, that's a good thing. Now we can get wasted at Barba and Liv's engagement party this weekend."

She widens her eyes. "It's open bar?"

"It betta' be, we all know how much he spent on the ring," he jokes, patting the cold tub tile next to her so she can scoot over for him. He takes a seat next to her and pulls her into him, kissing the top of her hair. "I meant every word of my vows, 'Manda. My name may not be the one on the birth certificates, but those girls are definitely a part of me."

"I know that, Dominick," she agrees, not for a second doubting the wholeheartedness in his words when he talks about their girls and what they've meant to him since long before she and him were ever together.

"I mean... where do you think Jesse got her _Twister_ skills from?"

"Her Momma," Amanda laughs, poking him in the side. "Those long limbs do you _no_ favors, Carisi."

He smirks, taking the hand that's not wrapped around his wife and planting it on her kneecap. "You sure you're okay?"

"Aside from the fact that as much as I love my girls I wish they were yours instead?", she responds. "Sometimes I feel guilty that we'll never have a baby that's — that's ours, but I know that you're not in this for that."

"No, 'ya see, I'm actually in it for your cookin' skills."

She whacks him in the elbow. "Shut _uuuuup_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else's limbs throb at the thought that we used to play this game for _fun_ as kids? Anyone else grow up in the Twister generation?


End file.
